. . . the trace of the fugitive gods, the track into the dark of the world’s night. — Martin Heidegger
Coming home, I feel the night withdraw. The soft, thin edge of the planet’s shadow angled low across the sky. Dawn ten minutes away,The sun still below the horizon’s rim,its light being bent to a brilliant orange eyeby the winter air. Treetops and rooflines emerge from the void, like a ship on some vast sea of shadow trailing off to the west, then back into night, falling out through the flat black forever.
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