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May 2, 2007

Jim: Celestial Signpost

Grampa squinted, following my pointing finger. “Oh, that!” he grinned. “That, my boy, is a comet.”

“A comet,” I whispered reverently. It’s wispy tail shone clearly in the indigo sky of early dusk. Then, “What’s a comet, Grampa?”

He continued to stare at it while we walked side-by-side up the stony trail. “Mostly a giant ball of ice,” he explained. “The sun makes them melt.”

I stopped walking. “Uh. Grampa?”

He plodded ahead, eyes fixed skyward. “Folks used to think they were evil omens,” he mused. “Harbingers of Doom, they were called.”

Without looking down, Grampa stepped off the cliff.

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