In 1999 my brother and I were living in the Honey Lake Valley in the High Desert

region of Northern California.

From our property situated on Highway 395 north,

we had a clear view of that beautiful and huge natural lake.

We could also see the nearby Sierra Army Depot where an unceasing

flow of C-130 military aircraft provided us with endless entertainment every

evening.

Six days a week we got up early, made our coffee and headed to town

where we put in long hours working to make a go of our floor cleaning business.

Naturally, we reserved Sundays for church and family gatherings.

But in the evenings, sitting in our yard far from the noises and hassles of the world, we watched the distant

planes coming in and going at the depot and talked about whatever came to mind.

It was peaceful. Even when the conversation lagged or we lost interest in the

plains, there was always the Milky Way. The sky in that remote location was clearer, brighter than it was anywhere else.

That's why, that Saturday night when we sat out there a little longer than usual,

I thought it was so odd that the Army Depot was getting

more difficult to see. I asked my brother if he was having the same problem or if it was just

my eyes. He said he thought a fog was forming across the lake and moving our way.

Within five minutes this fog had spread from the depot across the entire valley and up our mountain stopping several

hundred feet before it got to us.

It covered the highway and we neither saw nor heard any sounds from the diesels. Then a bright round light appeared to our right, moving

towards us at our elevation. My brother thought it might be a car on the three ninety five, but I pointed out that we were a thousand feet above the highway.

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