The Tribes circled

Winter lift, snow in sift and sunlit, rise from flakes in updraft. Sunset.

She would see the cold again. They had told her. So many times. The tribes gathered beyond the rim east. Better to talk about in hush. Better the words were just in mind. She hunkered among dwarf trees. The sky could push so that nothing poked through, at least not yet. They were building a rocket somewhere.

“It’s in the flames,” tribal elders knew something as they licked up, tongue tips to the night. “They come around. It’s not that uncommon, it’s just not tomorrow.”

She’d learned tomorrow meant now. She’d learned uncommon meant hardly ever. Years were stars.

He shook off dust like rain, with a heap to haunches. Cowboy done with the ranch. Easy breathing. A fire to warm the night. He said it even warmed the light. She never understood that, but she had not known him yet. He’d never told her his name. He’d never asked for hers.

…

Hopi walked in with Diné from the South, East and North. Apachería representing Southeast. Dry River people from The Belly. Pais surfaced from glass walls and waterfalls, angry.

Trees more as drawings and scrawls then physical. Walking in between branches high in low height. These were dwarf trees. Nothing grew higher than The Canyon here. Nothing grew higher than The Canyon.

…

Her skin, he said, would attract one specific man. He’d see it from years away. He laughed. A specific _old_ man. She frowned. She didn’t remember when she arrived, probably didn’t care. Seasons, she knew.

“Yes, that old,” laughing again.

“I’m sorry,” lay low.

“Even older than you. But there is no reason to lower oneself here. I have done just as much as nothing as you, despite this council. For it does not come from me.”

Skin could mean many things, but it was never superficial. She strayed from imposing will and still heard her favorite: it could mean its reflection from the light within. She was almond waning to white, the elder red, tanned and stretched. Both he said were _not_ the color of their skin. But what if no light shone forth?

“You will be surprised,” said the elder. “For he is darker than night, infinite madura.. then brighter than stars.” He shook his head as if thoughtless assumption. He finished, “we’re all made of the stuff.”

Let’s walk, he motioned out of the kiln room. The air in the corners, sharp as ever. Stars, a blanket.

“He does not know you are traveling to him. Be kind. He has come far, incredible roads. He has been outside history, like us. But you are returning to time now, Elizabeth.

Lightning, she turned.

“What? Your name is evident. It is written on you plain.”

She grasped, water in the wells. He nodded, same. Oceans in the eyes, he said. Walking on water just to see our Lord. They saw each other here and he stopped her before he left.

“It’s okay, we’ve known each other for a long time. You’re just remembering now.”

Vanished.