With the eclipse going on, I couldn’t help thinking about what the sprites of Wellwood might think if the sun turned black for a few minutes in the middle of the day. Since they don’t have much reason to know what orbits are, they definitely wouldn’t make the connection that it’s the moon getting in the way.
Wellwood was a heartbeat of nervous energy. Cerul stood on the balcony of the cottonwood tree after the last twitchy-winged, concerned mother had fluttered back to her home tree. At last it seemed the tide of endless questions (mostly the same one) had ended. The sky and the air itself took on a strange tint as the last of the black disk slid over the sun far above them.
He only hoped he’d given the right advice. By the currents of worry on the air, he wasn’t sure.
Are you sure it’s going to be okay?
Writerly Things 