I wanted a sunrise that felt like a probability statement. Almost surely — meaning with probability one, except on a set of measure zero. On most mornings here, the red giant comes up alone and takes everything. The dwarf is there, a small white point that barely changes the light. The terrain decided its own colour: red rock cut through with teal water, nothing I planned. The sky is still dark — this is a sun rising, not a sun high — and the stars haven’t left yet. Two suns, and the sky barely brightens.
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