There’s an alien on my porch. I found him three months ago, abandoned on the small lawn outside my apartment.

He’s a tiny guy, kind of slimy and gray. He just sits there, sunning himself during the day, waiting for his chance to phone home.

I set him on my porch thinking that whatever kid lost him would come back by, see him sitting on my railing, and rescue him. He’s had no such luck.

He’s held up pretty well so far, he gets a little sweaty on the hot days but it’s nothing he can’t handle. I thought the other day about him sitting out on my porch like some Native Man’s totem, my own personal gargoyle. Is this how superstition starts? I find an inanimate child’s toy lying in the grass, and set it on my porch. If he lasts another year I may give him a name. Two years and he’ll be a permanent decoration.

Given enough time, the thing seems to take on more and more significance. If he lasts a generation, he may become an heirloom, and if he lasts two, he may become a good luck charm. Three generations may make him some a sort of family saint, a protector.

My alien’s consistency isn’t made of a generation spanning material; my point was that maybe that is how legend, superstition, magic, and idols are created. They are novelties, trivial, but give them some time…