I read a story once claiming that a meteorite about the size of a softball crashed through a woman's home in Texas as she lay on her bed. The meteorite bounced around and, losing energy, finally plopped onto her belly, giving her a good burn.
Back in Colorado one summer just after sunset, me, my mother and a visitor saw something come from the north over the front range of the Rockies. It was high, high up, fast and silent. Its snout burned brilliant red and green, leaving a massive, dark trail, touched by the now over the horizon sun. It flew seemingly right over NORAD in Cheyenne mountain, that fortress of nuclear war neurons. I don't recall hearing or reading anything about it the next day. It wasn't until the meteor that exploded over Russia about three years ago that I read that meteors don't show on radar. That was a good thing in this case.
This fellow is surprised—as one might expect.
Meet Steve Veatch the artist. I'm not surprised because I made this painting.