The sky is crying stars. They hover lightly, twinkly brightly, then out of nowhere they rocket to the earth like a stone dropped into a pond, left to gravity's greedy clutches as it presses it to its heart. They fall like tears, fluid and streaking like water. This beautiful display ends right before the ground - the stars come close but never quite touch - kissing the earth before blnking out one by one they soar downward and dissapear - Orion, Cassiopeia, Lyra, Leo and Gemini losing their pieces, dropping arms and heads and belts like statues crumbling from decay. Ursa minor then Ursa Major quietly fall - their brilliant forms vanishing, their place now soaked by inky blackness. A thick velvet sky casting off the stars in handfuls. Earth holds its breath as it receives unto its solid, ordinary self the stunning jewels of the heavens. We all watch, swallowing this moment with our eyes. It will never come again. It cannot be undone. The dropping stars are beautiful now, but once they've all blinked out - what will be left in our midnight sky? What delicate lights will haunt the canopy of darkness we wish upon without a thought? When the very last one has fallen, who will be the moon's companion? These few moments will pass away. The distant suns meant to be immortal, are dying one by one in short bursts. Their existence sacrificed for our momentary pleasure.