Light and Night 3
The Light collector knelt in silver surf slither, knocked binoculars up on crushing sea. Demolition sound, edifices reduced to rubble. He optically hunted an elusive blue said to strike such mounting pre-wheel wave-walls. He saw no bulky blue bands. His head heaved in such heat. ‘After I collapse, sneak a little sleep… I’ll feel better cool cognizant. There will be blue bands then.’ He let his legs slack. The Night knight caught him, carried him under palappa shade, fed him glacial water. Revived, the collector thanked the knight, speaking softly to not wake the two black crowned night herons napping on the knight’s shoulders. “Nevermind the legendary jeweled blue bands.” The knight held out a silhouette of his fist.
“What I hold in my hand will enlighten us about light."
“What is it?” the collector awed, “a seed, an insect, a raindrop, a mineral mix?” The fist silhouette hardened to onyx.
“What I hold in my hand,” the knight repeated and then plunged his stony fist in the sea. The pressure of a dipped fist bored a well down through the ocean floor. A puddle opened a portal. Opal shines shimmered and shot new color combos - muddy crimson, hairy lime, loose lavender, creamy aqua mousse, bright black. ‘Colors of dreams,’ the Night knight determined and then pencil-dove into the portal.
And the Light collector knelt in silver surf slither, staring down the well at fresh paint slashes, contemplating whether he wanted anything in his life to change.
He did not.
In the summer Sean Ulman works in Alaska as a technician
for a shorebird study. In the winter he lives in Delaware where he
writes about Alaska. Some current fiction has appeared in
Emprise Review, Cirque Journal and the Scrambler. His
miniature Dachshund, Bernice, was recently nominated for wiener dog
of the millennium.