Of Falling Stars

Written a bunch of days ago...and edited today.

One whiny post after another, I sound worse than Justin Bieber. So today I thought I'd write about happier things. 

I thought I'd tell you about December 14. I awoke around three in the morning grumpy and dazed in the post-finals stress. Then I remembered what a friend of mine told me about the meteor shower that was supposed to happen that night. I dropped out of bed, quickly brewed myself a big mug of tea, put on my warmest coat and pair of boots, and walked out into the night. 

Looking for a spot that was out of the glare of street lights, I walked across to the nearby golf course. There was a little hill where I lay on the grass for about an hour staring into the skies.
Lying there I felt dumb and illiterate. Above me was the expanse of stars and I could not find my way around. The only constellation I can recognize is Orion, and that was the only one I spotted that night. I kept staring, hopeful in spite of the numbing cold. There was a dizzying array of sparkly things of different intensities, plotting patterns across the blackness, but I was oblivious, staring at them as dumb as a tortoise that saw the sky for the first time in its life. 

Then I saw it. At first I thought I had imagined it. It was a mere silver glitter in the sky. I kept staring at that area, and I saw one again. It drew a little shimmering vertical line in the dark night sky, sharp and crisp like the slash of a silver blade.. Then another and another. I think I saw may be seven shooting stars that night. 

As beautiful as they were, they probably were not happy things. Only particles of dust caught in the gravity of Earth, falling at such speeds through the atmosphere that air sets them on fire. Burning, they fall and vanish into air. What was probably one of the most beautiful nights of my life was only a glimpse of the remnants of the universe burning away.

See what you missed, here.