Some days are gentler than others, the usually hard corners worn just soft enough to make them malleable. Those are the days when, after hours of dappled brightness, night comes on slowly, as if the light in the sky were draining away the way water drains from a wet sponge left in the sink. Orange skies become pink, then drift into cloudy purples and, finally, into dull grey blackness, with just enough light to see, but not enough to expose the jagged edges of the night.
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Pauline, you are generous and wonderful…thank you so very much for that incredibly uplifting comment!
Pure poetry.