Youthful leaves of spring chattered in the rush of jasmine perfumed zephyrs as one by one, stars pierced through the darkening indigo. The lone bell of the church called out its final peel of the day, deep chimes rolling out from the streets and through my soul where I lay in the grass overlooking my home.
How much time had I spent looking at that strange rock formation? Crystalline flesh of pitch that was never warm to the touch even though it devoured the sunlight every day. Was it a fluke of nature or something paranormal? A remnant from a lost civilisation? A drifter that would come and go from the city kept touting that it was artwork from visiting extraterrestrials; much like we ‘go to lakes and stack stones, or build sand castles at the beach’ he would say. Many of the locals always laughed him off. Even I grinned up at the abyssal sky that was leaching the last remnants of twilight away as I recalled that crazy theory. He definitely knew more about the crystal than he let on.
The sonorous voice of the bells finally faded away and in the silence, my heart fluttered in anticipation of what was coming. The ochre of the crescent hunter’s moon was captured by the gossamer cloud and pooled into the ink of night. Stars shone in ferocious competition for dominance of the sky. Both were silenced as static whispered in tongues of silver light edged with gold trim that gracefully wove a path across the sky, shimmering and coiling together. Teasing. Lingering. Like the scent of sweet spice that trailed faintly behind the jasmine breeze.
Reaching for the age-worn shard of black crystal I had worn continually for two years now, I thought back to a different sleepless night and skies shattered by flickering lights with a smile.
A drifter that would come and go from the city kept touting that it (the rock formation) is artwork from visiting extraterrestrials