It is a hard cold thing to think of – watching this small glassy marble of earth be engulfed by a standing wall of fire pushing out from the dying sun at a dead run.  To think of the day, certain and known, fixed and immovable in the math of time, when the home of man will be scorched from the memory of the void.  And the day, still further distant, when this flash of heat, this scaring incineration of the last dried fossils of our dead race, will, after a cold, soundless journey, be nothing more than the silent twinkle in a distant planet’s sky.