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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2022-02-14 06:20:15 -08:00
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writing/post-self/neviim/local/tycho/015.html
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<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s idea was this?&rdquo; Tycho asked, staring, unbelieving, at the heat-haze shimmer before him.</p>
<p>True Name grinned proudly. &ldquo;A cocladist of mine came up with this. I would not recommend walking past the barrier. It is dreadfully hot beyond there, even for a desert creature such as her.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He shook his head, looking once more from the ground to the sky. They stood on a well trimmed lawn at the edge of a forest, the shade provided by lingering oaks and birches delightfully cool amid the just-shy-of-too-warm day. The grass continued right up to a shimmering barrier of heat, where it quickly failed, a no-man&rsquo;s-land of scrub lasting only a few feet before it fell away into sand. A true desert stretched out as far as he could see before him. Rolling dunes, painfully blue skies, mirages dancing along the horizon.</p>
<p>So extreme was the temperature in so small a space that the barrier between the two, that shimmer of heat-haze, appeared to be a very literal wall extending as far as he could see in either direction, though after a few dozen yards, the forest encroached right up to the barrier once more, impossibly dense, impassible.</p>
<p>So extreme was the temperature differential in so small a space that the barrier between the two, that shimmer of heat-haze, appeared to be a very literal wall extending as far as he could see in either direction, though after a few dozen yards, the forest encroached right up to the barrier once more, impossibly dense, impassible.</p>
<p>And there, right in the middle of the clearing, sitting flush against the wall of heat, sat a low tollbooth. There was a glass-walled cubicle, large enough for one person to sit on a stool, huddling beneath a canopy, a small A/C unit gasping and rattling atop it. A red and white striped gate blocked a concrete sidewalk leading directly into the desert.</p>
<p>The whole affair was dusty and tired, as though it had weathered a hundred sandstorms and would doubtless weather a hundred more, though it would never be truly clean again.</p>
<p>To the side of the tollbooth, straddling the border, a squat, flat building sat, fronted by a sign declaring it to be &lsquo;Customs &mdash; Please Use Other Door&rsquo;. From the roof, an aged radio tower reached toward the sky: a narrow pyramid of angle-iron painted in that same red and white. A light flashed sleepily at the top.</p>
@ -68,7 +68,7 @@
<p>They sat in quiet, then, finishing their coffees and then watching the ice melt in the mellow warmth of the day.</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2022-02-14</p>
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