Troped

The mesa is singular. It dominates the landscape like a termite mound. For miles around it is the only structure aside from a decrepit and bony hand reaching up thirty-five feet from the ground ten miles north. East, also approximately ten miles, sometimes then running against the dun colored and wavy, wavy sunrises, through clouds of dust, shifts the silhouette of the skin traders’ insect caravans, slow, rumbling, and multi-legged. He will sit and watch the shattered land from here until he hears his father calling out for his brother. His father never calls for him. But still, just the same, he will go home.