Above the Vaulted Sky
by Kurtis Hessel The desert wind whipped the fire, now flattening the flames against the ground like a rocket’s exhaust, now folding them, now shredding them into flares that floated in midair. Fugitive sparks blew across the hardpack and rose, as if to join the night’s busy traffic. Bright pinpoints zoomed overhead, swerved, blinked, rushed along bisecting pathways. Long trains of satellites chugged through the dark. The sky teemed like a kicked-over anthill. Or like the armies of heaven routed and in disarray. Somewhere beyond there were stars, everybody said. Saul slouched into a camp chair and scowled into the flames, feeling the heat from the fire on his face when the wind set the coals murmuring. His brother Absalom sat beside him, leaning westward towards their youngest brother, Julian, who stood a coltish silhouette at the edge of the fire’s glow, staring into the darkness. Julian was looking towards the pile of stones covering a grave. From the darkness beyond, coyotes splin...
