It’s late, sometime after midnight, as I take the day’s garbage out to the refuse bin. I pause, as I often do, to savor the stillness of late night in rural Texas.
It’s too quiet. There’s almost no sound at all—no buzzing of insects, no rustling of the wind, no cry of distant coyotes. Only the occasional squeak of a passing bat.
But even in the silence there is a sort of sound, not heard, but rather felt, as if of a frequency not of this planet. I glance up and see an enormous triangular shadow moving slowly against the sky, discernible only by the disappearance and reappearance of the cold stars as it passes. It is from this blackness that the sound which is not a sound emanates as it drifts purposefully across the night sky, as if guided by some alien intelligence.
As it vanishes behind a hill, I am overcome with an almost indescribable feeling, a mixture of awe and trepidation.
Some odd impulse from some unknowable source causes me to look once more into the vastness of the heavens.
Something is wrong with the moon…
Not even the venerable Mr. Bell could have dreamed of the weirdness that is modern American politics. Come, let me show you: