West bound the last seventy miles or so out of Oklahoma the sun somehow stayed within the four inches between the bottom of the visor and the horizon. As we crossed into Texas it seemed to plunge into the prairie ahead, gilding the edges of the clouds and turning the sky an unlikely combination of colors with a pink fingernail clipping of a moon setting through a band of orange.
After the moon set, there was still a thick stripe of red sky, topped by white. In turn, these layers lay beneath an expanse of indigo containing but a solitary star.
Only in Texas.
Writing A Film Review
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