By Andy Tu
On the other side of the hill, a crescent, orange glow rises over the horizon; a helix of black smoke ascends toward the heavens. Something is burning. He walks up the path as its fragrance kicks in: leafy herbs roasting, releasing metal undertones. Crisp, heavy, pungent.
At the top, he still cannot see its source as cloud smoke washes into his eyes and pushes into his lungs. His head begins spinning. The stars shift, transformed into the eyes of the universe, watching him. And then a voice from all angles of the sky, a whisper like the eternal dead resurrected. Moses…
The craving for transcendence is eternal: from the stiff-necked to the stoned, may the Lord give us the good stuff.
You work wonders with words, Andy: “. . .leafy herbs roasting, releasing metal undertones. . .” a wonderfully descriptive sentence. Great job!