Magic Swing, p.3

 FLOATING ORB

I SAT IN THE PORCH SWING WITH MY MORNING COFFEE IN HAND, ON A PLEASANT MORNING IN LATE SUMMER 2004. THERE WAS NO WIND.

I SAW, FLYING ACROSS FROM THE DIRECTION OF THE ROAD, A BLACK ORB ABOUT THE SIZE OF A TENNIS BALL. DEFINITELY NOT A BIRD. TOO SLOW. NO UNDULATING FLIGHT. JUST A SMOOTH MOVEMENT THROUGH THE AIR, ABOUT THREE FEET ABOVE THE GROUND.

WHEN I FIRST SAW IT, IT WAS ABOUT FORTY FEET AWAY. ITS PATH WOULD CARRY IT LEFT TO RIGHT, ACROSS MY FIELD OF VIEW. AT ITS NEAREST POSITION IT WAS NO MORE THAN TWENTY FEET AWAY FROM ME.

TWENTY-FOUR MEASURED FEET FROM MY POSITION IT STRUCK THE TOP WOODEN RAIL OF THE FENCE. SORTA GLUED ITSELF TO THE ROUND SURFACE, DISTORTING ITS OWN SPHERICAL SHAPE TO CONFORM TO THE SURFACE OF THE RAIL. IT PAUSED ABOUT TWO SECONDS, THEN AROSE AND IN ITS ORIGINAL SPHERICAL SHAPE RESUMED ITS SILENT FLIGHT, CONTINUING IN THE SAME DIRECTION.

I WATCHED, NOTING THE SMOOTH STRAIGHT LINE PROGRESS THROUGH THE STILL AIR. IT CONTINUED ACROSS THE YARD, DISAPPEARED BEHIND SOME TREES, AND WAS GONE.

I SAT IN AMAZED SILENCE, REPLAYING IN MY MIND THE VISION OF WHAT I HAD SEEN.

IT WAS SPHERICAL, EXCEPT FOR THE DISTORTION WHEN IT HIT THE FENCE.  COLOR? DARK, PROBABLY BLACK. DULL, NOT SHINY.  SOUND? ABSOLUTELY NO SOUND.  SPEED? MY BEST CALCULATED ESTIMATE, ABOUT FOUR OR FIVE FEET PER SECOND, COMPARED TO A BIRD'S FLIGHT OF ABOUT THIRTY FEET PER SECOND.

I WAS SIXTY-EIGHT YEARS OLD, WEARING GLASSES LESS THAN A YEAR OLD, IN GOOD HEALTH, RESTED, SANE, AND SOBER. NO DRUGS. NO EMOTIONAL PROBLEMS. ABOVE AVERAGE INTELLIGENCE. NOT GIVEN TO SEEING APPARITIONS OR UNIDENTIFIED OBJECTS.

WAS IT AN UNEARTHLY VISITOR – AN ALIEN?

YOU TELL ME. I DON'T KNOW.

I WROTE THIS WITHIN A FEW DAYS AFTER THE EVENT, TO ENSURE AN ACCURATE ACCOUNT. I HAVE REVIEWED IT OVER THE YEARS, AND FIND NO REASON TO RETRACT OR CHANGE ANYTHING. I HAVE NOT PUBLISHED IT BECAUSE OF THE EXPECTED INEVITABLE DISPARAGING COMMENTARY.

BUT TODAY, HERE 'TIS !