A soft glow drifts over the open sky and points to
the horizons of far off worlds. In these distant and mysterious lands, light is
tethered to the gentle breeze that flows through the deep. This appears to be
like a tender whisper from beyond the savage pulse of the long night of conflict
and rage. There are no perfect pictures of illumination, or anything else for
that matter. Given pictures are partially opaque, yet relevantly clear, as the
sufficiency of this world morphs into possible worlds that present new ways of
being, seeing, and living.
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