Last night while heading outside for a jog, I saw a shooting star. It streamed downward within the sky like the last flickering embers of a firecracker. But this definitely wasn’t a firecracker. It was indeed a shooting star. I didn’t make a wish. My head was empty of thought, other than the words, “A shooting staaaarrr!”

Should I have made wish?  Should we all wish for something? Do wishes let us continue to live another day, hoping something better will happen, or something specific will arise?  Wishes are for dreamers. Dreamers are for sleeping. Stars are for twinkling, until they create a show in the sky, burning in the atmosphere like the last ember of a dying firecracker.

I have recurring dreams about meteor showers. I’ll be suspended somewhere in a surreal world and see a dazzle of twinkling stars rain down into nothing.  It’s the quintessential dream for me – creating a visual, stunning in its beauty, arresting in its silence. Millions of stars falling out of the sky is the stuff that dreams are made of – to borrow from the Bard.

But in waking reality, seeing one shooting star in the early evening is special. Even if it almost gets lost among the airline jets hovering in the distance, waiting for their final approach into LAX.  The shooting star competes with the man made blinking lights of planes on the final descent. All these flying objects touching down.  Burning fuel.

Its been a very busy and fruitful week. Time to touch down.