Iron Rain

The sky turned from drab to gunmetal grey; pewter raindrops slipped through pools of mercury. I went out onto the covered deck to smoke a cigar. Steely hued geese flew through metallic showers, ferrous sheets of sleet crashed into a leaden haze. It was easy to imagine platinum dioramas turning within each particle of soaking spindrift. I thought of space junk, not ours, but an alien detritus drifting in from a thousand galaxies, hundreds of space craft abandoned and defunct all slipping, unmoored into fragments falling and smelted small within times rendering forge. A plunging litter of far explorations - one last landfall upon our far flung world as the dissolved ore of a once iron will.