rejectomorph: (munkacsy_parc_monceau)
On moonless nights, there comes a moment as dawn nears, when the black sky grows faintly blue, not in one area, as would be the case were there moonlight, but throughout its expanse, so that a person in an unfamiliar locale would not know from which direction the sun would rise. The sky is a perfect dome of deep, dim light. In this cerulean moment, the brighter stars remain, and any clouds which may be present are clearly revealed. All this night, I have sensed the presence of an overcast in the dimness of stars. As the blue light emerges, the overcast has gathered itself into wispy cirrus clouds which, newly lucent, now drift as though through moonlit sky.

This illusion lasts a short while, and then a contrast between east and west grows, the west seeming drawn back toward the retreating night as the east grows brighter. This illusion, too, will quickly pass. Day is inevitable. The first bird chirp comes, soft and distant, just before the last few stars wink out. The rough shapes of impending shadows begin to form under the revealed trees as the transition proceeds. The world returns. I watch the clouds slowly whiten as the first bent sun rays strike from behind the eastern ridge. I think about the starlight still glittering on dark ocean swells a thousand miles west.


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August 2017

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