#penumbrae

[rivalwings]

PHANTOM PENUMBRAE

[chaos-in-pandoras-box]

Shifting Penumbran Hive Mind

The Hive Mind, unlike many other Penumbrae, takes on the form, or a meshed form, of whatever the onlooker finds most appealing or awe-inspiring, as the Hive Mind has no actual tangible shape visible to the human eye. Multiple onlookers can cause the Hive Mind to merge all appealing or awing looks, resulting in obscene and confusing personages and shapes.

Curious about the Penumbrae? Read about some of their information here.

[oflights]

Penumbrae

The shadows have their seasons, too. The feathery web the budding maples cast down upon the sullen lawn

bears but a faint relation to high summer's umbrageous weight and tunnellike continuum—

black leached from green, deep pools wherein a globe of gnats revolves as airy as an astrolabe.

The thinning shade of autumn is an inherited Oriental, red worn to pink, nap worn to thread.

Shadows on snow look blue. The skier, exultant at the summit, sees his poles elongate toward the valley: thus

each blade of grass projects another opposite the sun, and in marshes the mesh is infinite,

as the winged eclipse an eagle in flight drags across the desert floor is infinitesimal.

And shadows on water!— the beech bough bent to the speckled lake where silt motes flicker gold,

or the steel dock underslung with a submarine that trembles, its ladder stiffened by air.

And loveliest, because least looked-for, gray on gray, the stripes the pearl-white winter sun

hung low beneath the leafless wood draws out from trunk to trunk across the road like a stairway that does not rise.

John Updike

[blacksunmagick]

One of the books I was most looking forward to this spring was Penumbrae, an anthology of occult fiction edited by Richard Gavin, Patricia Cram, and Daniel Schulke. I was not disappointed. When I say this book was good, I mean it was practically perfect in every way. Seriously, stop what you're doing, go order it, and then come finish reading this.

[blacksunmagick]

Our time is recursive and forking. Our time is a garden in which all realities are simultaneously possible. All paths are truly one path. From the time of birth to the time of death, every word you utter is part of one long sentence. This sentence is utterly, heartbreakingly unique. Never before and never again. yet they, in ensemble, create One Sentence.  It holds and houses us. Announces and defends us. Blesses and confesses us. Curses and condemns.

Sun Yung Shin in “The Other Asterion,” in Penumbrae.

[poems-daily]

Penumbrae

The shadows have their seasons, too. The feathery web the budding maples cast down upon the sullen lawn

bears a faint relation to high summer's umbrageous weight and tunnellike continuum--

black leached from green, deep pools wherein a globe of gnats revolves as airy as an astrolabe.

The thinning shade of autumn is an inherited Oriental, red worn to pink, nap worn to thread.

Shadows on snow look blue. The skier, exultant at the summit, sees his poles elongate toward the valley: thus

each blade of grass projects another opposite the sun, and in marshes the mesh is infinite,

as the winged eclipse an eagle in flight drags across the desert floor is infinitesimal.

And shadows on water!-- the beech bough bent to the speckled lake where silt motes flicker gold,

or the steel dock underslung with a submarine that trembles, its ladder stiffened by air.

And loveliest, because least looked-for, gray on gray, the stripes the pearl-white winter sun

hung low beneath the leafless wood draws out from trunk to trunk across the road like a stairway that does not rise.

by John Updike