Once in a while, a star would fall to the ground, fizzle out in a cloud of smoke, and and dissolve into a pebble of quartz. This only happened a handful of times throughout my visit to this “Otherland.” Each would-be meteor was more breathtaking than its counterpart in the world or dimension from which I was called here. An enlightening turmoil ensued inside that could turn the world on its side, at least from one's own perspective, and cause a stumble, a stagger, a drunken-seeming clumsiness by its beauty, as though witnessing an angel stepping down to earth in full splendor, straight from the presence of God, still shining with lightning about its robes. And then it was nothing more than a rock, not unlike . . .
Well, regardless of what it was like, it was beautiful to watch, though hardly supernatural.
I reached out towards the stars, and one fluttered like a butterfly over to my hand and rest in my palm. It was warm to the touch, but not hot. The coarse surface of the thing was glowing a faint white, and smelled of hot copper. Immediately, it began cooling and dimming, but not shucking its rough outer layer like the falling ones.
Many of these “signs” are meaningless, and not worthy of note. Note whatever you like, however, as it may mean something in the greater scheme, or perhaps subjectively; to you individually.
It was a dull thing, dusty almost, resembling oxidization-flecked chrome. I took it to a pool of water -not water, but something much thinner, sweeter, and softer- and began buffing it. In an instant, tendrils of roots that routed between my fingers and to the ground sprouted from it and pulled downwards out of my hand. A bark-like coating formed like scales and softly-lit webs emerged from the branches. In a minute, flowers blossomed, glowing with a faint illumination, which then set fruits; new stars that fell not down but skyward, aligning with the others as a glistening speck in the sky.