Nighttime at a roadside inn somewhere near Mt. Shasta.
Banners of blood red and yellow clouds shining brightly in the distance turn grey silhouette upon a mountain’s edge at days end.
There’s a holy feeling as quiet descends across the valley. In communion I stand in an empty field singing to the night.
A bright flash lights the distant mountain kingdom where war sabers of cold and warm meet. The gods of day and night having one last joust.
A knight of the road dismounts his chuffing beast, fills its hungry belly with a sulfurous black fluid, and again flies into the now inky sky.