“This is absolutely amazing, Butzy!” Jude declared unequivocally, shivering in her lime green and white Roswell T-shirt, her face ablaze with awe as we leaned against the garage door for shelter against the merciless winter wind. “It’s like…like…an exploding rainbow…an exploding rainbow!”

I couldn’t have picked a better metaphor myself, for the sky was a kaleidoscope of shifting shapes and changing colors. Greenish yellow lights, tinged with red, arched everywhere above us; some darted across the sky in broad rays, others in immense sheets; some bent the heavens in colossal arcs, others in striped bands hundreds of miles wide.

“What in G-God’s n-name is it, Joyce?” my sister stammered, her voice, as well as her upper torso, trembling in the cold December gusts, blue and violet flare-ups overhead illuminating her frightened face and dancing in her glassy eyes.

“I don’t know, Jude,” I answered her in a candid, tremulous voice, squeezing her so close to me that the front of her T-shirt buckled, and the white Roswell alien’s face became even more creepily distorted than before. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

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