Copyright 2011 Lee Dodson
Lee W. Dodson
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Remember, this never happened.
On Second Mesa, the night sneaks up on you. One minute it’s light, the next minute it’s gray, then suddenly it’s dark. Starting with a casual purple tint in the middle of the sky, black on the eastern side of the world and red fire on the other side, fire embers fall into a black lake of sky, broken by silver brook stone stars the Old Ones have cast into it.
It is theft of light by an Indian pickpocket god, and it is gone before you know it, while you know it, while you are doing something else.