So’ Dine’e! So’ Dine’e! Star people! Star People! Hear me, I shouted looking up into the sky, and I raced my pony into the oncoming thunderstorm. Sharp lightening spikes danced around me as the cloudburst rushed rain to the desert floor. I raised my weathered face to the sky and accepted the love pouring down on me. Earth’s consecrated rain, cooled my body and refreshed my soul. I gave thanks and praised my gods for water. The downpour ended suddenly; much too soon. I watched as the desert morphed into an unfamiliar place of flowers tinted a hundred different colors. Small secretive creatures crawled cautiously out of hidey-holes and joined the celebration. Scorpions skittered across the sand, snakes slithered after desert mice, while insects scurried away to find new homes in the desert.
I have lived with the people for sixty-two years. I passed the days in the open desert riding the little pony I call Neealba, looking for new forage for the sheep and goats.
Over time, my face wrinkled from the ever blowing sands; the Earth’s strong sun burnished my skin to copper. My eyes adjusted, long ago, to solar brilliance, but I wore the brim of my hat low over my long forehead and oversized eyes. I learned the ways of the Dine’. The tribe honored me by permitting me to live among them. I sat at tribal council with my brothers, and we guided the people into the new century.
At night, I taught the children about the stars and worlds beyond Earth. I told them they are not alone in the universe, that there are many galaxies, many kinds of life. I described my early journeys, and shared my adventures in strange worlds, and unheard of constellations, far from Earth. The children begged to hear my stories over and over again.
I thought of the friends who journeyed with me; they lived again in my memory when I told the children of our explorations.
The people called me Sky Wolf because, they said, I watched the night sky with great hunger.
When our navigation system failed and we crashed in the desert, Dine’ riders were the first to find us. I was severely injured, but alive. The riders brought me to the reservation and gave me shelter and nourishment. Women nursed my wounds and I recovered. The Shaman renewed my spirit, and brought me into harmony with all beings. I embraced my Mother, the Sun, and honored and respected my Father, the Sky.
My name is Entrelac. I was the only extraterrestrial, who survived the crash on the Foster farm near Roswell, New Mexico, in June, 1947. I grieved for those who died that day. Three star travelers perished in the crash. Their bodies are stored at Area 51.
One day rescuers will come for us. Earth’s bright evening star, Arcturus, is my home world. My beautiful world filled with constant life giving rain, and pearl gray skies, thick with protecting cloud cover. The night sky always black as an ocean squid’s ink. The air ever cool, never hot, the sun glimpsed only once or twice a decade. My race lives in strong buildings constructed to respect ceaseless rain and cold winds. Our star travelers will find us. We are marooned, but we have not been abandoned.