Hugs and kisses from the Oort Cloud.
|As the laws of diminishing returns might be, objects from the Oort Cloud return infrequently in the form of repeating comets and rocks, in strangely long elongated elliptical orbits, some icy tails intact, glowing from reflective sun light, rising from the shadows of cosmic black, to arouse our curiosity, while we lift our eyes to their superior magic to wonder why. Our singular sun exposes them every seventy five years or so or maybe hundreds, maybe never, depending on which ones decide to visit us again and if we are so inclined to take the time to remember them. Time becomes so elusive out there in the distant mist. We have no idea of what we are missing.
It was the mountains at first that felt the impacts, signaling the onset of catastrophes, as they fell prey to thousands of meteorites crashing with their blue green light, like thermonuclear devices exploding, making craters in seconds, shaking things up from up above.
Astronomers had first predicted such events were plausible. They suggest that over ten billion years ago a great collision between thousands of ice rocks from way out there in the Oort Cloud were knocked out of their regular orbits like baryon motion particles, like billiard balls colliding in the night, in an epic event, chaotic splendor, power and might, ejected like so many volcanoes exploding at once, particles gone rogue, erratic, super nova in the cosmos, speeding off course towards us, towards Earth for no particular reason; to reach out, to touch us, to kiss us good night while decimating our tiny planet, fracturing it into tinier pieces hardly worth recognizing when finished.
Who could really make such predictions and why? Events set in motion billions of years ago could never really make sense or have any significance to creatures who have only been around for mere seconds by cosmic standards, by universal perspectives. We are a mere sneeze in the grand scheme of things, a short breath on the oceans of questions that have no endings. Meteor impacts are funny when they come; no warning, no meaning, no invitation for sure. They don't really give you time to think. Asteroids are rude.
Love letters from the sky, solid objects from beyond the stars, come to us without question; touch us, to kiss the day good-bye. If only we had more time, a chance to reply. For crying out loud, we are not dinosaurs! We don't deserve to die! We demand more respect, equal rights in the cosmos! Who do you think made you anyway? God?