Christmas Story: part three: On my hand objects from the Moon

– Stop!

He put out an arm and I crashed into him and bumped my head.

– Duck! he yelled.

A light streaked across the sky passing so close I could feel its heat, and as quickly as it appeared it was gone, just a faint orange smear marking its path.

– What was that? I asked.

– A shooting star. They don’t always come so close. Often you can spot them in the distance and move out of the way in plenty of time. That one didn’t have the manners to even say ‘hello’. You get all sorts: some friendly and on for a chat; others in a mad hurry, like that fellow; and then there are the satellites.

– What are they?

– Spinning objects made from metal and plastic and silver foil. Don’t ever bother to think of having a chat with a satellite mind. They are too proud and far too busy for idle chatter. Yet even worse are rocket ships though fortunately there haven’t been too many of them of late. There was a time before you were born when a rocket ship would land on the front of my head at least once a year, sometimes twice. Pesky things and they left such a mess behind and how they stung when they crashed. See these. Can’t get rid of them no matter how hard I try.

He tapped his forehead with a finger and I noticed some red spots.

– Here, look at all this.

He fished about inside his jacket and pulled out a number of objects, which he placed in the palm of my hand. There were little vehicles with big wire wheels and strange contraptions with four legs. There were flags and sticks and shiny umbrellas and all sorts of nuts and bolts and hammers and spanners and empty tin cans.

Mr Moon shows me what was left behind

Mr Moon shows me what was left behind

– Just some of the rubbish left behind. Those humans are really so untidy, no wonder Earth is such a mess.

He scooped up the pieces and dropped them back inside his jacket.

– My, how time is flying. We must get on. Follow me and please, please don’t dawdle.

[To be continued at some point in space and time.]

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