12:28 Sunday Afternoon I mistook the sound of an out-of-sight jet as the sound of a satellite I was watching trace its way slowly across the sky. The shimmering stars bowed and curtsied and the constellations nodded their heads to the human creations, but beamed friendlier smiles at the moon who was there first. Shooting stars flung themselves to their own demise, hurtling through the atmosphere, burning up until there's nothing left. Spectacular suicide.