We were driving south on Old Telon Road,
two miles from the main road crossing.
The back passenger side of my ranger
lit up bright orange,
as a silky round star
plummeted to earth.
I looked away
& had night blindness.
The flash visible through my eyelids,
My mouth, dry,
Stomach, tight.
At twenty degrees below the horizon,
it disappeared from view,
a fiery plunge
over the frozen river,
a roar deafened by
a fresh blanket of snow.
I have never seen a UFO
or reported one before.
I am an engineer.
I have seen shooting stars
& meteors
& comets.
This was not like that.
This had a smell, and sight, and sound,
discovered through frozen inhales,
dry and pungent.
When I was a child,
I had a recurring dream.
I stand in our backyard watching,
My belly wishing for pancakes.
The early morning sky
is filled with objects flying
at low altitude,
leaving trails—not contrails.
Some of the objects are dark green,
but many are shiny & golden.
I don’t remember when the dreams started,
but I had them almost every night—
Sometimes more than once,
Days after,
still vivid in my mind.
By the time I was fifty,
I had them
a couple of times a month.
Later, as I aged—
Less frequently.
Now that I am old,
my dreams have stopped.
Despite barbecue on a fall day,
a mix of sweet smoke and spice,
cooking meat, and fall leaves,
I think about the reveries.
And with hesitation,
others report the same.