This is undoubtedly a beautiful idea wonderfully realised, but I did not really understand it at first, which is on me. I just didn't find it very interesting or enjoyable until I discovered what it was about.

A form of extraterrestrial life (consciousness?) is cast across the void of space (from the sun?) to its demise on Earth, which is a mild curiosity to two strangers who will never know what they actually witnessed.

I have come to accept that I am an impossible and unreasonable reader whose messed up brain will move the goalposts at random in ways that are not fair authors or myself. This was one of those examples of being so fascinating and so close to being emotionally impactful for me that I feel like throwing my toys out of the pram for being denied that potential, glorious catharsis. I could absolutely bawl my eyes out for a mote of light with a mind or whatever farting across space to tragically die on an alien planet, observed by two nonchalant randoms on public transport who barely regard you as worthy of attention as an in flight magazine.

BUT, then I remember that this is a super short story first published in 1947 dealing with these concepts, and yeah it's kinda dry and left me kinda dry, but it's not 1947 dry and certainly not a dry 1947 concept.

This is one of those stories where I just have to pay my respects and acknowledge just how wild it is in context, basking in the warm glow of the context, even if the actual text didn't particularly blow me away. ( )