I meet a goddess, polynamed, forgot--outlived all her cults. But as our age says gods are dead, she reads a crystalball. A man we know knows three eyes are a lie. Playfully perverse, she tells him alone the truth--her real names and history. But he hears evasion--a fortuneteller's fraud. Sad. Funny! He scorns her wry Apollo- gy of a burned-out god. "At least I'm safe. He won't pray to me! I might grant. Mortals love miracles--damn the cost. So easy to pray that I'll smite "neighbors. But plague's a loyal dog: comes home. And invasions! When whole starving nations cross deserts, a goddess alone "can't dam the blood flood. Well, wouldn't--war to save my leeches? Genocide? So my cults died and I retired. No more! "I just do magic, reject all claims. Welcome friends who let me be." Skeptic's leery, but I find her ador- able. In the non-seraphic sense.

CONFESSION ON CREATIVE PROCESS

Rather than try illustrating this from scratch...

• I dug through some life-drawings from a class at Precita Eyes Mural Center for a fast sketch that had the right energy. Scanned it.
• Using Irfanview (a free opensource photo-tweaking tool), I darkened it & upped the contrast, so gray crayon looked more like bold charcoal
• Turned the image negative, so she became a luminous figure in darkness
• Using GIMP (free opensource Photoshop-like paint program), added detail (face, her other arm, the crystal ball) till it felt right, then...
• Tinted it, leaving black-white values constant

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