By Ekta R. Garg
Write a new post in response to [the] one-word prompt: Vivid
On the morning after the time change, a confident globe nestled in a corner of the sky. The imperfect globe bore the hallmarks of nature: the dark spots of craters, the light patches of elevations. The globe rested on its edge with a stadium-high seat to the scene unfolding before it.
All around, the sky had lit itself in layers with the lavender and peach of dawn. Residents in a cozy neighborhood below woke up to the responsibilities and jobs and education awaiting them, and in the distance to the left and behind us a seam of light opened on the horizon. The globe faced that light with courage.
The seam stayed narrow for mere minutes. Then the stitches of the atmosphere broke; the sun reached across the earth and swiped the colors in the sky. The lavender faded. The peach dissipated. Still the globe, a touch fainter now, remained.
As the heat of the morning touched the earth, the globe changed position. It rose from its stadium seat and climbed for a better view. A better view for it of the morning meant a lesser view for us of it.
Minutes more, and the globe had nearly disappeared. The barest outline remained visible for some time as if the moon wanted to reassure us. It wanted to remind us, in its waning moments in the morning view, that it would return in the night to reclaim the cosmos with its own stunning luminescence.
I inhaled the light of the morning, the extra hour offered, and kept digging the shallow grave I’d begun in the backyard.