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The Darkest Hour

Something impish and frisky lives behind the curtain of darkness ; as the moon lies down to sleep and the sun prepares to rise for morning, a vast horizon of beautiful secrets steals out to stretch and breathe.  Eyes have trouble adjusting, somewhere between night and day, shadows come alive; the air takes on a hue of bluish-gray and tints everything like ink sinking into linen. This splatter-painted canvas of not-quite-day and no-longer-night welcomes all into its colorful landscape. Colors blend, lines blurred between one thing and another, all the world mixing and smudging boundaries of separation. Its hard to tell whats there, or not there – unlimited and unseen possibilities exist in the edges and angles of trees and grasses.  Dreams walk boldly on the earth, monsters and angels hold hands and dance to the echoes of night. Then with the spirit of Pan, Dawn grins wildly; darkness diminishes, fiendishly grasping to embrace and release the sisters Nyx and Eos in passing, its flirtation passionate but fleeting.  And so its gone; the darkest hour seeming less then a moment, retreating into mist and light.

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