Black to ebony, and walaa, INDIGO. This is the magical moment made by the slightest sliver of light. It is the first promise of light, of dawn, a promise more hope than seen. It is mostly in our hearts to see light where we know it will be. The assurance light is coming, to hope upon hope that a new day is given, and in the thought, the reality of the grand gifted miracle of it all. I keep raising my head to please myself that the ebony is there, it separating the land and mountains from the river and sky. Oh yes, there it is now. A distinct evaporation of ebony to indigo. The words giving the light a title barely worthy of it. Colors to name light; for there is no known thing as color, only titles we give varying amounts of light.
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