she keeps the stars in her purse. every constellation paints bright light against the silk lining of the bag she takes everywhere, zipper pulled tightly closed to keep them all inside. the bright blue sky of the daytime knows only the morning moon and sun, and she is tasked with the great responsibility of keeping it that way. only as the sun sets low against the horizon does she begin to pull her purse open, letting the stars peek out into the atmosphere to grace the night with their tales, and as the sun starts to glow behind the opposite skyline, she carefully collects the twinkling lights back inside for their daily rest within the silk pockets of her purse. they always complain that the night ends too soon, even as the sun rises lower and falls faster, the nights elongating as the winter solstice pulls the earth into darkness. the stars love their time in the sky. but always, they must return. always, they must let the sun fill the earth with warmth, with light, with energy.
YOU ARE READING
little tales
Short Storyi don't really know how to describe these. little tales, i guess. little nothing stories.
