This enormous silver thing—a sheet of tinfoil as big as the door on your house—was hovering in the air, three stories up, on my street.

I watched and it shimmered and shifted, hovering up there by the third-floor windows. Then it swooped down, wrenched itself into two other shapes, and zoomed low over the cars passing on the big street.

Before it went out of sight, it jumped up again, up and up, to the third-floor windows again, and it hovered and shimmied, then jetted off around the corner, out of my sight.

I had to chase it! I had to pull down this pending danger before it slapped its bulk across some driver's windshield, causing havoc!

After rounding the corner, I saw it sliding crosswise from high above the street to low above a plaza off the street. A cul-de-sac! My chance to nab it, surely. It floated to the ground, a hefty mass of foil, just light enough to remain an inch above the pavement and drag one corner off and off, out of my reach. Now I could see its plan: it was going to slop around in a big circle, following some circle of wind brought about by this cul-de-sac. Now the real clown act would begin: I'd be chasing it around, always a step behind, as it orbited me and I orbited it. I could see it happening.

But! I was too cunning. I aimed for a point a few strides ahead! In this way, I managed to walk around in circles no more than twice before grabbing hold of that delicious shining cloth, crumpling its lightness in my fist, and binning it into the nearest safe litter bin. A traffic disaster was surely averted. All in a day's work.