We Are Stardust

We stood on the side of the hill, staring off to the west. We watched as the sun completed its daily destiny by sinking into the Pacific Ocean. My son and I waited at the barbed wire fence. My wife, always the thrill seeker, had crawled through to set herself just a little closer to the lip of the continent. She sat on the picnic blanket to make herself one among many. Our little family was not alone on the hillside. We were part of a throng of sorts that had settled at the top of Prefumo Canyon to watch the sunset. A popular pastime in these parts, but this one was unique. Part of the distinction was our presence. My son had seen his share of days coming and going from this vantage point. My wife and I have not. Sun rises, sun sets, and son sees. We came to watch with him.
Oh. And there was a comet. My wife and I had been unable, in spite of our mild efforts to view this celestial anomaly, to take it in from our own neighborhood. We traveled four hours down the coast to take what we imagined might be our ultimate road trip to that little college town that my son had called home for five years. We were also there so that my wife could give her little boy a haircut before he went off to what we all hoped would be the job interview that would set him on a path to his next act. We had convinced ourselves that what we were doing was essential. Conditions in California had worsened to the point where barbershops and hair salons had been closed once again. After being set aside by his former employer when things began to sour, our son's COVID-19 mane had grown substantially. If he went off to start his career looking like he had just walked in out of a three month trek in the wilderness, he might be sent back out into that wilderness. We did not want to take that chance. My wife and I considered what we were doing was a mission of mercy.
But that's not what we were thinking as the sun went down and we waited for Neowise to appear. The temperature dropped precipitously. My son and I, in our shorts and sandals, shivered a bit while we looked out on our blanket-bundled wife and mother, wondering if we would see anything but the standard impressive sunset.
And lo, the darkness fell and the comet appeared. At first it was a gray smear above the horizon. My son and I worked our eyes to make sense of what we were seeing. My wife listened to us from a distance and attempted to ignore our tired banter. Still, the comet persisted. This ball of frozen gas was making a trip that would not be repeated for another six thousand years. My family's trip was a wink in the lifespan of Neowise. And yet, there we were, ready to carry on our errand. Not just to cut some hair, but to connect as we do. Because it is essential. Once in a lifetime kind of stuff.