Shapeless Dawn

Dawn on the planet was something almost indescribable to someone on Earth simply because their frame of reference is so tied to the planet our species once called our only home. To call it a wonder was to be a comedy man, because the atmosphere was clear as crystal to the extent I felt weak at the knees when I first walked off my ship and looked up to the sky. In full view were the neighboring planets, distilled as if through the lens of a telescope cast of glass and diamonds. But my uneasiness came from the anomaly a far off, and often it felt as if I was caught in its gaze. I felt it spoke to me, sometimes summoning imagery of the face of my wife or my children, sometimes a nightmare from childhood or me running from wolves threatening to destroy me, and sometimes I was the wolves and myself simultaneously. I felt examined by this cluster of stars, forms, whatever they were. Even after returning to Earth I still have dreams of the anomaly and its whispers to me, making me feel as if I wished to see the other side of the mirror that crept into the back of my mind on the surface of humanity’s new home.