In Passing Moments

No one witnessed the tiny speck of dawn, born in very moment that a giant star had died and sent this bit of iron hurtling through the velvet deep of space, wandering there in solitary wonder for over ten thousand million years. But then one day, it found itself on perfect course, toward a little yellow sun, its light piercing and intense. But a tiny blue white dot got in its way, and in the air of that new world, it vaporized and then departed, shouting with a dazzling streak, its journey now complete. “It’s called a shooting star,” the father told his kids. “Or some know them best as meteors. I’m sure that if you stay outside, you’ll see another just as nice since there’s a shower of them tonight.” “Naw, we’re playing video games downstairs, and anyway, I’m winning.”