The Wanderer

by Phillip Knight

I stumbled as I stepped through, captivated by the wonders of the landscape, a strange violet sky above me.

In the distance rolling hills of blue grass were cut by a meandering river into weird ‘hoodoos’ akin to those I had seen long ago in my youth. Long legged birds stalked the prairie, stabbing at the veldt with spear like bills to retrieve some unseen morsel.

I froze not wanting to move while I drank in the scene.

A scent wafted to me on the quickening breeze, something pungent yet smoky at once. After a moment the memory came back and I recognized it; burning flesh. I turned my head, careful not to move my feet and I saw the column of smoke climbing towards the stratosphere from the cabin.

Another small tragedy.

It was my curse to see these things, always from a distance, unable to help. Unable to move closer.

Locked in place, my neck twisted awkwardly, I watched as the building was consumed and the high grass began to burn. The conflagration spread, building as it did so into a consuming prairie fire. Soon the grass would be alight as far as the eye could see and everything now alive would be dead or fleeing.

As I would have to flee myself shortly.

Turning from the fire I waited, watching.

Until the heat was at my back and my skin was beginning to scorch.

So I took a step, wondering what wonders would greet me.