I was sitting out on a cliff along the trailing edge of the Rockies, watching a storm roll in from Nevada like a herd of angry trains. No buffalo left on this hardpan, but now they gathered in the sky, fat and furry. They were darkness, the eclipsing shadow, and the roar of their hooves beat the life from the air as they arched stampeding towards me.
I was armed as usual with my twin sticks, hardwood shaved thin and fired for strength. They once flashed blows at foes right and left, now they are both prone to be held for support as canes.
Before me half of Utah stretched, across alkali flats and that undead soup of the Great Salt Lake, over cragged-toothed mountains and Restricted Military Airspace. Somewhere beyond the basin and range was an imaginary line, drawn flat in the sky, surrounding testing areas and unseen installations.
The thundering mass of steam-engine beasts trampled overhead, tearing their own darkness with the flickering lick of light. They had come straight across that no-fly zone without notice, pushed by a migratory drive more magnetic than atmosphere. As it should be, really; the gods of those braves we put in reserves were set to return any day.
Any other day I would welcome the storm, dance in the rain with my sticks over the six mile hike to this place.
I needed a clear view.
The launch was at dusk.
I was armed as usual with my twin sticks, hardwood shaved thin and fired for strength. They once flashed blows at foes right and left, now they are both prone to be held for support as canes.
Before me half of Utah stretched, across alkali flats and that undead soup of the Great Salt Lake, over cragged-toothed mountains and Restricted Military Airspace. Somewhere beyond the basin and range was an imaginary line, drawn flat in the sky, surrounding testing areas and unseen installations.
The thundering mass of steam-engine beasts trampled overhead, tearing their own darkness with the flickering lick of light. They had come straight across that no-fly zone without notice, pushed by a migratory drive more magnetic than atmosphere. As it should be, really; the gods of those braves we put in reserves were set to return any day.
Any other day I would welcome the storm, dance in the rain with my sticks over the six mile hike to this place.
I needed a clear view.
The launch was at dusk.
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