Encounters on a Moonless Night

"Did the sun come up today, or did it just forget again?" Sarah muses, staring at the perpetual dusk.

"You think it'll ever return?" asks Robert, his voice low, almost blending with the hissing patter of fog on leaves.

"Impossible," she answers. "It's trapped in a never-ending twilight." Her fingers trace the rim of a glass that never spills.

Overhead, branches speak secrets to themselves, every creak a stanza in their nature's song.

There’s an echo of laughter, or perhaps it's just the wind teasing the old oaks. They seem to breathe laughter back.

An ancient cartographer saw a map here. Neither knew why; perhaps he spoke it before paper learned to listen.