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…

This is another pic I took last Wednesday -- wish the compression didn't take some much out of the image... 

Took this pic last Wednesday. The only reason I got this and several other shots were because a auto-parts store rented out some tools they said they would keep for me. I had to detour, run across town, and find another parts supply store that had the tools I needed. On my way out to my parent?s house, I saw the moon was out, and the sky was grapefruit pink. I drove to this park not far from their place on the bay and found it still and at rest. I spent over an hour out there, just taking pictures. It was worth the delay.