Dark skies stretch from one mountain range to the next, pierced only by occasional headlights and the rushing sound of the spring flood. The stars like a blanket, quiet tonight, unassuming, and not a single one falls though I will them to. Eyes adjusting, the stillness of the stars give way to a myriad of traffic across the firmament: airplanes and satellites criss-crossing the dark sea, on their way to other destinations, other adventures.
He writes and says he may have an assignment for you in Alaska, should you be so inclined, and you tell him that after June 30, you'll have nothing keeping you anywhere and your calendar is free.
I came looking for meteoroids exploding into the atmosphere, but I was given a reminder that there are places to go, instead.
Both burn,
but one lives to tell it.
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