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The soft pink of her blush creeps sheepishly along; the little girl peeking out from behind her mother. She reaches out with a finger, then two, and three, tentative of the novelty of the sky. A nudge from behind and the sound of tinkling laughter – ‘Go on,’ her mother swathed in brilliant reds whispers in her ear. She turns back, lips agape in wondrous joy, pulls back, hesitant, then smiles a smile wider than time and jumps into the open. She squeals in delight and twirls her skirts, while the birds play hide and seek in the shadows of her flaxen hair. She spreads her hands, flies along the horizon; leaves a trail of corals and ambers behind. Her mother follows close with an ever watchful eye, her scarlet trimmed love never far behind.

And the world wakes up to see – pink and red and gold, in a palette of pale blue.

Dawn.

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ritoma

ritoma

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