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I am not the superstitious sort.

However, I do believe that there is something about a full moon that does strange things to people.

As a union steward, no one has to tell me when there’s a full moon outside.

When the full moon coincides with Friday the 13th, I have standing orders with my supervisor that I will not be showing up for work that night.

It’s just too unsafe.

Well, several years ago, I was getting some pretty vibrant heebie jeebies on the shop floor.

Everyone seemed a little unhinged, including myself.

There was no doubt in my mind that we were in full moon mode.

And so, when my shift was finally over at midnight, the first thing I did when I got outside was look for the moon.

It was a clear sky, but there was no moon.

“Strange,” I thought to myself. The parking lot at work is one of the best places I know of to get a good view of the night sky. There were no trees or building to block the view.

On the drive home from work, I still could not catch a glimpse of the moon.

Not one.

“Okay,” I thought to myself.

“I’ll just have to look some more when I get home.”

Once I got home, I leashed up my dogs and we went on our late night walk.

It was about 1:00 a.m.

We walked…

And walked…

And walked…

Until we reached a field where we could finally see the whole night sky.

And you know what?

There was no moon.

In keeping with the old ways, I decided to mark this dark and creepy night with an obligatory, Frost-esque style poem:

Here goes…



“Hey diddle diddle
From a field in the middle
I searched the sky for the moon
My two dogs and I
Saw only saw black in the sky
And not even a meteorological balloon.”

I rushed the dogs back home in record time.

It’s never happened again.