A Scene

A scene that could be ancient.

Two explorers in a stolen canoe emerging from that bend in the river, digging their paddles hard into the current, heading upriver.

A scene of dinosaurs. Their long necks rising from the riverbank brush after stripping leaves, scanning the ridgeline for predators.

A silent platoon of soldiers carefully wading the shallows, making their way toward the rendezvous point.

Ten men on horseback gathered on the high ridge to the right, peering down toward the water’s edge for prey, their bows and spear tips piercing the skyline.

A lone disc hovering in silence above that bald peak, searching for a place to put down.

Or a scene of nothing. No one.

Just the water, the trees, the ancient hills and the still, hot air.

I’m standing in an asphalt highway turnout.

Traffic piling up for the weekend, headed to the reservoir.

A wall of red brake lights.

A horn taps twice behind me.