I would very much like for our writing today to prominently feature two colors. We each choose any two that we wish, and then we get to figure out how to incorporate them into our piece.
It is getting seriously cold overnight around here. Makes me want to linger in bed in the mornings.
Unfortunately Max has other ideas about that.
The yellow sun is with us every day, without fail. It chases away the night as it rises above the eastern horizon, waking the world with its molten glow. We know it watches us closely, for we feel the fiery sting of its gaze upon our skin.
At the close of each day it can be faithfully found sinking into the western horizon, changing color as it loses its heat. Fading and fading until it is lost from view, gone to the unknowable place where it regains its strength, rekindles its fire.
All is dark then.
Until the white sun forces its way between distant stars to cast its pale eye upon us. Some nights that eye is wide open, lighting our way as we move through the woods hunting prey who are enemies of the yellow sun. Other nights the white sun observes our slumber with a squinting eye, as though it is in deep thought.
Or plotting mischief.
Then there are the nights when the white sun keeps its eye closed. These nights confound our elders, worry our women, scare the children. Why won't it look at us? Have we done something wrong? Is something foul set to befall us under the cover of darkness? Has the white moon grown bored of our antics, casting its gaze elsewhere?
It is most unsettling.
But perhaps most disturbing of all are the days on which the white sun, for no reason that we can discern, chooses to challenge the authority of the yellow sun...