Earth's New Mini-Moon—Asteroid in Orbit September 29 through November 25, 2024
*Plain text below images
*Plain text below images
So what happens is the grizzly sniffs the edge of our solar system, roots
out constellations and smell-maps the outstretch. Swallowing stardust, the grizzly dives into the galaxy
lake.
She's on the trail.
Her prey's scent is reminiscent of sulfur and petrichor. It swims the void silent—
an eye for all sides of its head—and takes its sustenance by way of bite, jaws all needle
and gravity, and matter deep and dark.
Grizzly will never see her prey. She knows it is too small to see but her nose will not be led astray.
The empty space between celestial bodies is so much less than between dying stars.
So much less room to hide.
Instincts burn bright but the galaxy is cold.
She will return and hibernate soon.
Just one more hunt.
She lingers in a shadow overlooking a steep blue boulder lying heavy in the lake. Allows atmospheric fires fuel her while she bides her time.
There is nowhere her prey can hide when there's not nothing enough to start.
Its kin likes to ease between the vastness of stars, carried along by distant currents. And here in a galaxy, without emptiness to drink it away, where else is that boiling soil to go but straight to her core?
Her nose twitches.
Grizzly kicks off the boulder, plunging deeper into lake's depths. Fire flecks off her maw like spittle and her hunger the heat death of the universe.
She bellows,
a crackling roar—gravity swallows it up—prey
goes down whole and the emptiness
is a little less cold.