Appearing out of the bright dawn, Kevin approached, a black silhouette against the orange skyline. He walked slowly and in an unbending path, gradually getting larger as he drew near to my porch. I sat there, drinking my morning dandelion coffee and reading an aged tome that had managed to survive the centuries, “Lyrical Ballads.”

“Doug,” he said as he came near enough to put a foot on the edge of the platform, “hell of a storm last night.”

“Kevin.”

“You never stop reading, do you?”

“Not if I can help it,” I replied, setting a dry oak leaf in my place and putting the volume on a table next to my chair, “what brings you this way?”

He stepped up and sat beside me, helping himself to the remainder of the coffee with a second cup I had set, expecting him to show up this morning. “Just coming to shoot the breeze.”

“We both know that’s not true,” I said, “you always want something.”

“True,” he took a sip of the warm liquid as the orange sky resolved to light blue with a sprinkling or pink and orange clouds, “but you’re not going to like it.”

“Won’t like it any less than I like any of your other favors,” I joked.

“I dunno,” he replied.

I could tell it was going to be a long day, but it usually was when Kevin showed up. He began to explain how he had found something in the woods; a great stone plinth of an unknown orange substance which burned him when he touched it. I reluctantly agreed to accompany him out to the spot, more out of curiosity than obligation to my friend. He led the way through the forest until we came to a clearing, shrouded with fog even this late in the morning, and giving off a light orange glow as the sun filtered through the mist and reflected from its surface.

We pierced into the barrier of fog and tried to find a path to the object. The earth around it grew wetter as we got close, a holdover from last night’s storm, and everything became more orange as we drew ever nearer. I noticed Kevin’s shivering before I felt the cold for myself and marked the drastic change in temperature. At last, we looked upon the rock, shining in the late morning sun.

It stood like a sentinel in the filtered sunlight, tall and strikingly orange, mysterious in form and purpose.

“Let’s get out of here,” I suggested, urgently. I did not like the feeling I got from the great orange rock that stood in front of us. “And not talk of this again. To anybody.”

“I agree,” said Kevin.

As quickly as we had arrived, we departed. For all we know, it stands still deep in the forest, growing moss and weathering as it sits.