For one week, the sun covers night shifts. Midnight becomes softly golden. Owls squint; plants stay awake. People host brunch at 2 a.m., confused about sunscreen. The moon takes a vacation, sending postcards about eclipse cruises. By the end, the sun yawns, edges dimming. It hands back the night, grateful for darkness. The moon returns tanned and smug, promising to cover dawn next time, but everyone agrees one role swap was enough.
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