I'm walking down
George Street, at Rutgers, when something flickers in the corner of my vision. Looking up, I see something that makes
my heart twist and my stomach turn -- something on fire, far above in the night sky. I can't estimate its
altitude, initially, but whatever it is, it's going down, fast, and breaking apart as it goes.
I watch it as it falls, along with many others suddenly stopped on the sidewalks, craning their necks upward. After about five minutes, there's a collective sigh of relief. It's not an airplane. It's ... a balloon. A mylar helium balloon. Its small size confused us all in our perception of distance; a small flare a few hundred feet up is easily confused with a large one at much higher altitudes, especially in a strong wind and without stars to provide a fixed background.
The balloon fell to the ground, the mylar still burning, and people gathered around to watch. Some commented on how the danger could have been quite great had there been leaves on the trees, others on the probable cause of the fire; the leading theory being someone deliberately lighting a long wick and releasing it... the balloon ascended until the mylar caught.
Everyone was shaken up a bit. North American society isn't really used to flaming wreckage falling from the sky.