The Story of Three Suns

C$14.00

Three Suns and a Steady Traveler

They told him the world only had one sun. That the other two were lies—tricks of the fog, reflections off grief. But Oren had walked long enough to know what he saw.

Three suns. Each sun was smaller than the previous one. Each one was the color of something he'd lost.

The first sun was his mother's voice before the silence took her. Warm. Close. It was a light that did not burn, but instead held its warmth. He'd followed it out of the valley where he was born, past the stone towers and the black water, and when it dimmed, he kept walking anyway.

The second sun was the friend who said, "I see you," and meant it. That light hung at the midline of the sky like a word you can't quite remember but feel in your chest. It flickered. It stayed.

The third sun—the lowest, the smallest—was his own. No one else could name this sun. It sat just above the tree line like a question he'd stopped trying to answer and started trying to live.

Oren planted his walking stick into the wet stone and stood still. The water around his boots reflected all three suns back at him, and for a moment, the world above and the world below were the same place.

He didn't need to arrive.

He'd been arriving his whole life. Every step a doorway. Each breath marked the crossing of a threshold.

What you receive:

26.3MB TIFF
sent to email immediately after purchase
Personal use license -- print for home, gift
Watermark is removed with purchase.
Original hand-made work.
No A.I.
Done in Toronto
Edition of 15 remaining at this price. When sold out, this edition will be closed.

Three Suns and a Steady Traveler
They told him the world only had one sun. They claimed that the other two suns were lies—tricks of the fog and reflections of grief. But Oren had walked long enough to know what he saw.

Three suns. Each sun was smaller than the previous one. Each one was the color of something he'd lost.
The first sun was his mother's voice before the silence took her. Warm. Close. It was a light that did not burn but instead held its warmth. He'd followed it out of the valley where he was born, past the stone towers and the black water, and when it dimmed, he kept walking anyway.

The second sun was the friend who said, "I see you" and meant it. That light hung at the midline of the sky like a word you can't quite remember but feel in your chest. It flickered. It stayed.

The third sun—the lowest, the smallest—was his own. No one else could name this sun. It sat just above the tree line like a question he'd stopped trying to answer and started trying to live.

Oren planted his walking stick into the wet stone and stood still. The water around his boots reflected all three suns back at him, and for a moment, the world above and the world below were the same place.

He didn't need to arrive.

He'd been arriving his whole life. Every step is a doorway. Each breath marked the crossing of a threshold.

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What you receive:
26.3MB TIFF
Sent to email immediately after purchase
Personal use license—print for home, gift
The watermark is removed with purchase.
Original hand-made work.
No A.I.
Done in Toronto
Edition of 15 remaining at this price. When sold out, this edition will be closed.