Falling Like Shooting Stars

So I sat at my desk, somewhere halfway between grading papers and being a zombie. I stared out the window at the fall foliage and the leaves drifting down, and suddenly my pen wrote the following …

“I wish on you …”

And hearing this, he sped across the sky much faster and brighter than he had anticipated. Oh, what wings it gave you to be wished on.

But having no brain (for where would he put it?) he missed the exit for “Orbit” and instead he began to hurtle himself downward. He didn’t quite know why, but it was exhilarating, and right now that was all that mattered.

The dark and empty brilliance of space was wiped foggily away by the clouds and he soon saw familiar shapes. Ones he had seen so many times but so much further away. As he fell toward them, the shapes gave way to patches of color, he soon discerned, of farm plots, of acres of trees, of miles of city.

They grew closer and closer, and as soon as he deciphered that this great green poof was a tree, he was already within its depths. Leaves tickled him, teased him, invited his claustrophobia out to play, until he ignited them.

The tree sprang up in a brilliant orange, a color so inspiring that its neighbors did the same. Yellow, red, orange again, glowing. Only the proud firs stood staunchly ever green.

As the month wore on, the fiery leaves began to weary of him and of their old home, dropping off to create a veritable mirror on the green grass. And eventually, the green green grass was covered in white, the mirror image molded, and the tree itself became a skeleton.

Such is the life of a meteor(ite).

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