Black obsidian looked back at Jason: a few feet from his face, the giant statue of his own eye hovered heavily above the canyon. The pedestal of the shining Ocularity jutted out at the tip of the narrow path of land jutting out over Colorado River’s millions of years. Around him, the red rock of Glen Canyon exuded sensation. Roiling storm clouds led the indefinite grey horizon on a charge against the twilit cobalt sky.
The rain splashed off the statue into his eye, and back again. The wind gusted him nearly into the yawning space below, and he turned to put one foot directly in front of the other on the rocky narrows. Wind knocked him to his knees, and he crawled along, gripping the sides with his hands, his thumbs holding onto the top’s flat surface. He reached the edge where he could stand up, and walked a few yards toward a Manzanita bush. He turned back around and stared at the eye.
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