High Desert Journal: That Place Where Land and Sky Meet

That Place Where Land and Sky Meet

Fiction

by Liz Prato | 0 Comments

Cam's car crawled away from The Plaza, towards the edge of the earth, where clouds stacked up on the horizon like waves. That's how it was in Santa Fe. The clouds all hovered by the horizon instead of directly overhead, like something exciting might happen at that place where land and sky meet.

These clouds were dark and the traffic was slow. Cam's hangover was gone, and his body was tired and warm in a malleable way. Sex with that girl from the bar had been sweaty and long and loud, not like it was the first time with Joan. They did it in Joan's apartment in Chelsea, three weeks after they'd met. He had fumbled with Joan's bra and fumbled with the condom. They had to shift several times to make their bodies meet, to find those perfect places where they fit. When it was over, Joan asked, "Did you . . . ?" and he asked, "Did you . . . ?" and they both had, and they might even had at the same time, but it was too hard to tell and that made them laugh.

The traffic crawl stopped. Cars pulled over to the side of the road. People stood on the mesa and stared. An accident, Cam thought. Something violent. Something red. But there was no panic reflected in their faces. No fear. Just a weird amber glow. Cam pulled over and stood with the others at the side of the road.

Something actually blurred the line where the land and sky met, a sweep of clouds, like a giant wave that even the craziest surfer wouldn't ride. Near the earth it was purple and black, malevolent and dense. As it rose to the sky, it lightened into grey, then turned periwinkle, then white white. The ferocious clouds swirled into foamy loop after loop. But what everyone stared at was the light: One beam streaking through all that black and purple and grey, shining on a lone piñon tree. You could see nothing else around it - no dirt, no adobe or cars or roads. Just one tree glowing gold.
"God light," whispered the woman standing next to Cam.

It was dark in Manhattan. If Joan was looking out her window, if she could somehow see through the buildings and the lights and smog, she still couldn't see this sky. Cam held his cell phone in front of him. He faced it toward the swirling mess of purple and grey, and snapped a picture. He typed in Joan's email address and hit "send."

Cam turned away and got in his car. With sunglasses shielding his eyes, he continued home while everyone else stood and stared.

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High Desert Journal

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That Place Where Land and Sky Meet

Fiction

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