We expected to see the sun that morning, and we were right. It rose muted and ruddy exactly when it was supposed to, climbing out of the ground like a slow waking bear. We examined the sun through binoculars. It had spots. Not like a leopard (the sunspots kept changing) but definitely pretty. When we looked away we saw spots in front of our eyes. They slid against the air, followed a stately downward arc, then accelerated into the ground. Ghosts found the spots and put them on their earlobes. Sunspot bling. Some ghosts put the spots on their foreheads.
I’m a novelist, poet, and short story writer living in the Desert Southwest.
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