Luna is a rising moon.
As a crescent, she was not particularly pretty.
An awkward speckled grey filly, I’d say, with a goofy, oblong face
and her lower lashes stretched to embarrassing lengths, like a flimsy second mane flowing out of her eye.
Then Luna reached her half-full stage, and the light of her seeped into the world by the time the first snow dotted the pasture. The grey on her lower legs thickened, her ivory face lit up, her body stretched to parade dark dapples in mysterious patterns. Her eyes widened into black pools of serenity.
I sat on the edge of an empty stone trough, in the middle of the pasture, below the hawthorn thicket, and sent out slow tunes to be easily turned into lullabies.
Luna orbited around me, an irregular kind of loop, avoiding the field of mares and geldings that blocked her or drove her away when she shone too close to them or me.
Nearer and nearer she travelled, my voice the gravity pulling her in. 
Until her face landed almost in my lap as I straddled the edge of the lichen-embellished trough, one leg out, one leg in. Her head lowered, and she would bid me with her nose to keep on singing.
Gradually, she lined up with my body, in a steady pull and a magnetic balance, and listened. Her listening, a lesson, and her focus were exemplary; she forgot herself, floating like the pale face of the moon in the stilled sea. 
And she smoothly transitioned from thoughtfulness, to drowsiness and into light slumber, upper eyelids stretched neatly, closing over her wide orb of an iris, then ajar again, my image in and out of her pupil. 
Her velvety ears remained fully attuned and, by turns, either followed or conducted. And she travelled to a place where time does not exist and ripples are barely felt; only her breath on the back of my hand ebbed and flowed. 
She remained suspended in this dreamy state, carrying me with her, two little girls under the wide skies, rising and falling, on a swing barely hanging on to God’s fingertips. 
When the sound faded, allowing the silence within to expand and surround us, I touched her forehead, and Luna bowed, as in, good work, darling, thank you. And refreshed, she trotted away, back into time, to graze some more and grow into a full moon someday.