läste fint om livet


The wind stirred the ancient cedars; the night insects kept up their insistent music.
It would always be like this, I thought, summer after summer, winter after winter,
the moon sinking towards the hills, giving the night back to the stars,
and they, in an hour or two, surrendering it to the brightness of the sun.
The sun would pass above the mountains, pulling the shadows of the cedars after it,
until it descended again below the rim of the hills.
So the world went, and humankind lived on it as best they could,
between the darkness and the light.

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