Author: Sunny Moraine

It Is Healing, It Is Never Whole

When the souls of the suicides come tumbling out of the low, gray clouds, it’s given to us to collect them, catalog them, contain them, and load them onto the train. None of us know where the train goes—it’s the general consensus, to the extent that there is one, that it would serve no purpose for us to know, and anyway it’s not our job.

Read More

To Increase His Wondrous Greatnesse More

The maiden and the dragon met on the night of the new moon, when the darkness would be deepest and the virtuous would be inside and afraid. They met on a high moor, lonely enough to be suitable for the conference, and the wind howled and cried and pulled at the maiden’s long cornsilk hair as if it were the soul of a badly neglected child.

Read More