Somewhere north of 2:00 AM I woke with a start. The tail end of a sound had just whipped past me. A single, strange rush of air. Not a bump. Not a clunk. Not anything metallic or fleshy. Just one odd sweep and then silence.
As I
lay there in the predawn dark, I rather quickly surmised that whatever it was,
it wasn’t dangerous. Something that weird almost had to be harmless. I figured
daylight would sort it out.
Late
the following afternoon, Desiree found her window display of lighted plastic
stars collapsed onto the sill and spilled to the floor. And, there, our answer.
I had been awakened by the sound of falling stars.
Our
Fallen Stars
—Mitchell
Hegman
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