“Those flashes, those twinkles,” Uncle Wardell explained, pausing to sip his coffee. He thought about it, gently shaking a finger at the night sky beyond his telescope. The sound of the old train starting up, slowing down, Boyd didn’t know, wailed in the distance and made him scared. “How do I put this,” said his uncle, unaffected by the strange noises. In fact, he enjoyed them—the distant, quavering, falling sound of the train’s horn, the ringing of steel on steel, the rattling of the cars, and other sounds Boyd heard occasionally out there that sounded to him so strangely like a big band, an orchestra warming up for a symphony. In the sky at that moment as Uncle Wardell gathered his thoughts another orange flash occurred, dim and miles distant. They watched as the little sailboat sailed overhead, crossing the stars, twinkling, approaching obliquely, then directly, then again moving edgewise and away, out of view, out of mind.