While the sun god works, I weave its blanket, a fabric growing larger by the day but never faster than the expansion of the sun god’s domain. There is always something new it hasn’t touched before: mountains formed from magma rising and lifting the earth’s surface, cracks in the ground created by plates shifting, canyons carved by water deeper and deeper until the sun god can no longer reach, though it tries. There is always something new that needs blanketing. I warp the loom, pulling the strings tight. The threads are made from cloud bodies and pollen dusted off flowers with no trees to shield them.
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