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  • Writer's pictureJames Kidac

the moon and the sun

The stars sparkled in an evening's gloom only in places where lights shun. In this night, there was no human periphery that spewed in the company of one dark lake and the land cupped around it. As in every other dusk, the lake was only a typical and silent lake and earth, judging by the calm on the land, seemed to be photographed into a stand still, so unlike its normally bustling mess. Every snore, by the drunkard knocked out inside his truck, by the man snoozing on the bench beside the lake, and the occasional purr that came from a shed nearby was carried away in the whispering wind and above this normal night on earth, the moon glowed in a crisp yellow happily, as if basking in that familiar sun she was facing. Sometimes, I wonder if the stars and moons and suns take on life of their own as they never stay the same when you want them to. When it rains, when it snows, when the sun refuses to shine, can a story still be told, ignoring the obvious science that demystifies rich and unbridled imagination into myths and mumbles..

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