We waited, reading the heavens. He's coming, I said. Polly held my hand. We were protected by scarves, mittens, hats and overcoats. He's coming, Polly said. It was a moonless night: the million stars aflame within the black. I see the Mikky Way, Polly whispered. She was only four. She raised a hand and pointed to a dazzling movement of starlight high in the east. There he is! This racing glittering thing was followed by another, and then dozens burst forth, arcing swiftly down to strike against the earth. A host of burning white cities mushroomed into the Christmas sky.
[This is my contribution to Loren Eaton's annual "Advent Ghosts" shared storytelling event.]