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The Sadness of Tycho Brahe's Moose | The American Reader

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The following story has been drawn from August issue of the American Reader, available in our Shoppe. 1. TRUE STORY     So first of all not a moose exactly.     An elk.     But what an elk.     Moose-like in its magnificence. Nine tines to the antler. Sixteen hands tall at the withers. Bugling voice bright as a trumpet.     The finest elk in all of Denmark.     Loyal as a dog, it followed the astronomer almost everywhere he went. 2. AB OVO     Morning in Denmark.     Pale blue sky, clouds like raw wool, bees hovering in the breeze. There amongst the acres of farmland, above a tiny village, sits a brick castle on top of a hill.     Inside the castle, Otte Brahe wakes up next to his wife, Beate Bille.     He smells the air around him.     Rosemary, flowering wheat.     Otte Brahe looks at his wife. He admires her long flaxen hair. The way she’s wrapped seductively in the sheets.       He leans over and kisses the mole on her neck.     Beate Bille sighs.     Otte Brahe sighs.     They sig

The following story has been drawn from August issue of the American Reader, available in our Shoppe. 1. TRUE STORY     So first of all not a moose exactly.     An elk.     But what an elk.     Moose-like in its magnificence. Nine tines to the antler. Sixteen hands tall at the withers. Bugling voice bright as a trumpet.     The finest elk in all of Denmark.     Loyal as a dog, it followed the astronomer almost everywhere he went. 2. AB OVO     Morning in Denmark.     Pale blue sky, clouds like raw wool, bees hovering in the breeze. There amongst the acres of farmland, above a tiny village, sit

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