The Sunday Whirl

The starless sky, black and menacing, conjures demons and swallows any purity from white clouds or sparkling stars. There is no room for doubt that a third black night in a row is kindling secrets no one wants to know. In the blink of a mother’s eye, the youngest child in the village, once soft and cuddly, turns into a dragon, the skin adopts scales, usually in a dark green hue. Everyone hoped their child would not be the youngest in the next cycle of time. Huge wings would suddenly appear and fly the baby to their nesting home.

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Wordle 736