Riding golden llamas in cold bright sun, we’d reached the highest ridge, where the air is thin. We looked up in the sky and saw a fearsome sight: through fine mist, a giant eye, strange symbols written on its skin. It was nothing we’d ever seen. We thought it God.
It was silent in the cold, not a sound floated down. It sat there so still, like a reptile waiting for a mouse. We wondered what to do, afraid to speak, afraid to move. We stayed like statues until darkness came. We are still here, frozen, but God has gone.