The last fingers of dusk slipped from the horizon, the sun
falling from the day to the other side of the globe, lighting continents in
other oceans, other people, other waters, ships floating on waves of sunlit
water, islands, sleepy islands rubbing their eyes, awakening their vegetation
to the presence of another day. Here to this side the sun would climb again,
hand over hand around the curve of the sphere, grabbing ahold of ice-capped
rocks, stepping lightly in narrow canyons, circling ever circling, light
filtering through clouds, through jungles, deep jungles and jagged cliffs,
painting the earth yellow and bright.
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