February XVIII

The Crescent

A distinguished rooster in a midnight-blue silk robe with a silver crescent brooch at the collar, photographed against a deep indigo backdrop with a diagonal beam of moonlight, composed and still, gaze turned slightly upward

Someone looked up last night and saw it. A sliver, a suggestion, barely there — and yet enough. The month turns not on certainty but on the willingness to look. He has kept his own counsel since sundown. There is a discipline to appetite, a kind of elegance in the not-yet.

18 February 2026

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