I headed towards the sunrise and the edges of the world blurred as night reluctantly gave way to day.
Black seeped from the heavens into the land and blues took its place: first royal, then navy, then the hint of sky warmed with a kiss of pink. The swap was nearly instantaneous. One moment it was night and the next it was day, the only evidence the lingering blur on the horizon where the two continued to fight it out.
I headed towards the sunrise and marveled at the beauty of the coming day.
Not a single blemish marked the infinite sky. Swiveling around I could see from one edge of the world to the other, front to back, and nothing spoiled the slow progression of hues. I couldn’t see where one color ended and the next began, but the sky behind me was not the same as that in front of me. I wondered if I could turn around and chase down the darkness. I wondered what adventures the light would bring.
I headed towards the sunrise and witnessed the birth of a day.
It was messy and perfect. It was blurry and beautiful. It was exactly how things should be. The sky heralded the approaching sun through vibrant splashes of color. The sky lamented the loss of night by clinging desperately to the darkness. Where the two met, the world was discordant, fragile. If the colors pulsed too brilliantly or if the darkness refused to budge, the two would crash together and the earth would cease to spin.
I headed towards the sunrise.
The blur called to me, and I answered, unafraid. The light reached out for me from the edge of the world and I didn’t try to avoid its grasp. The darkness tried to slow my progress, glue my forward momentum to the night, but my will, my desire to bask in the morning’s glow, was too strong. Adventure beckoned.