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An alien world that looks like home, almost. Something beautiful about the magenta tide pool, but that colour makes me wary. In my world, water such hue would likely be poison. Industrial run off or red tide. And the trees may look exquisite but I wouldn’t eat their fruit. I’m the alien in this world. She’s the one at home.
Those two spires on her head remind me of the horns of a gazelle. Or perhaps they’re some kind of antennas? Feelers sensing magnetic resonance, changes in air density and seasonal progressions. Or high frequency sound receivers listening for song calls from miles away. Family and friends signalling quick hello’s and long conversations, sharing the music of their being.
I would think her to be wild, natural in her world, naked and holistic. Yet she holds a tool. A weapon or a walking stick? She sees me, eyes unblinking, curious and unafraid. She’s intelligent, the tool at her side, a stance of openness and readiness. She’s wary too.
What does an alien give as a gesture of good will? Something from my world, gold in little chain links? Mirrored glass reflecting the self? Coal fused to a diamond harder than steel? What gift would give her the assurance to welcome me? I’m the alien standing before her, glowing all silver in my clumsy space suit.
How do I say hello?
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