The Night

The horizon glowed with the hues of the Rift, blues, greens and purples of every vibrant shade. She lay on her back, peering up at the clouds which obscured the stars. The colors danced among them. Ever-present, the Rift had been docile her whole life. The long, soft grass beneath her held the scent of home. Adjusting her white linen blouse and straightening her plaid skirts, she stood. Life on the farm was simple; difficult, but satisfying. She turned towards the cottage, her ear catching an oath and metallic clatter. If Father burned himself cooking again, she had choice words.