Witching Hour

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A witching hour! Night has fled, but morning has not come. The moon already disappeared, the crickets already stilled. If half an army of kindly sprites marched across the sky, it would not seem uncommon here, I’d simply wonder why. Oh! The stars are heavenly bright, the sky is pitchly black. A cool breeze blows o’er my face, but a chill burns in my bones. This is the hour in between – nothing forward, nothing back. This is the moment of magic – a gift, a sigh, a song. Yes – I hear the music now, a soft, moonless beat. I will dance to its throbbing, join the ranks of weary feet. Yes – I will dance in the starlight, it will not last long.





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