“Obviously, it’s a hoax,” Rita said, switching out the microphone cover for that furry one that she used when they went somewhere windy. “But can you imagine if it were real? I mean what would it mean?”
Quentin sighed. “It would mean that Nature herself is against my ever getting a real shot at doing real journalism.”
When they were young, the seven children of the Rain and the Sun were inseparable. They were magnificent, these children. When they were born, so too were colors born into the world. And the colors bore the names of the seven children. Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Violet.
What each child touched became that color. The red petals of a rose, the orange cheeks of a young fairy, the green spires of a pine, the indigo eye of a peacock’s feather. They would join hands and skip through the world, coloring as they went.Continue reading
When first the moths alighted in the world below, the land of earth, they did so out of curiosity. And they did so because they were sent forth from their home by their creator. Their home and their creator were one and same, and she bore the name Moon.