I do not know why there is light, and separately the darkness.
The first cold act of cruel creation was to cleave them from each other’s bosoms, shackling one to the day and the other to the night. I had always believed the origin of the separation to be a practical one: into the light, God could lead his people; into the darkness were cast the wanderers—the lonely, the proud, and the willfull—those for whom Heaven would spare no regard.
But I am lost and I am found.
I’ve come to a place where the twilight is a riddle; where the sun is risen but also set; where the first of all edicts is dashed on the rocks; where man laughs at God with a gnashing of his teeth.
Why is it there is light, and separately the darkness?
This is a short story I wrote a little over a year ago about the landscape of the lunar south pole, one of the places near and dear to my heart. One of my real-life research interests is the geology that shapes landscapes like these. I hope you enjoy the story.