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Our fabulous flying wheel galaxy plows head-first through intergalactic space. Seven thousand mile per minute taxi bound for the Virgo Cluster's misty trace. Our Sun bounces on gravity's tether, speck in a collective starry flower. Astrophysicists predict fair weather ahead, half a million miles per hour. A quarter of a billion year trip carries Earth once around the Milky Way. We plummet through the thick and thin of it; gas pockets, dust clouds, Spiral arms' melee. Our present course is relatively clear and beyond the Oort Cloud's icy comets the solar wind of our heliosphere expands to shield the inner planets. The latest figures confirm we'll be fine; asteroid Apophis will zip past soon, on April thirteenth, twenty twenty-nine and miss by one-tenth the span to the Moon. The odds of cataclysmic collapse of universal ‘false' to ‘true' vacuum are one in a trillion perhaps. Such an occurrence would radiate doom. The galaxy is aswarm with black holes, as many as one hundred billion, but the chance of meeting these light-limned coals is reckoned one in a quadrillion. Last, we've four billion years to prepare for Andromeda's insistent advance, but life, wherever it dwells won't despair as our galaxies gracefully dance. Gulf of the interstellar medium teems with miscellaneous cosmic threats. Astrophysicists counter tedium by cataloguing them and making bets. BUT, through my premonitory portal I see a quantum loopy half-dead cat throw dice with a sad redundant turtle. I don't expect they'll be expecting that.