Passage from Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
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It was a lone tree burning on the desert, a heraldic tree that the passing storm had left a fire. The solitary pilgrim drawn up before it had traveled far to be here, and he knelt in the hot sand and held his numbed hands out, while all about in that circle attended companies of lesser auxiliaries routed forth into the inordinate day small owls that crouched silently and stood from foot to foot and tarantulas and salpukas in vinegar runes, and the vicious megaliths, spiders and beaten lizards with mouths black as chow dogs deadly to man, and the little dessert basilisk that jet blood from their eyes, and the small sand vipers like seemly gods and Jetta in Babylon, a constellation of ignited eyes that edged the ring of light, all bound in a precarious truce before this torch, whose brightness had set back the stars in their sockets.