They fell out of the clouds like stones, smashing the sunflower fields, splitting, spilling on the hard summer roads. Their lives fell with them – letters, clothing, photographs, sunscreen, lipsticks, bags of sweets, passports to witness who they were and what they had become. They will not rise up, bones whole, flesh healed, brushing petals from their clothes. They will not wander this strange, sunlit land, looking for their children. There will be no kisses no reunions. Nothing more can happen.