5 February 2007, 8:36 AM
I know a little girl who used to play
as if the sky was a great, big piece
of construction paper stretched
across heaven, and someone,
probably God, had poked holes
in the paper. Angels walked about
on the other side, alternately hiding
and letting through the light,
causing them to sparkle in the night.
She knew better. She wasn't looking
to deceive herself with fantasy-
she simply loved the mystery
of what she couldn't explain to any
degree of grown-up satisfaction.
But I'd forgotten her until I sat
with my son watching cartoons
on a chilly February morning. Curious
George would not have been my choice,
yet in spite of me, he gave the little girl
a voice to say she wishes she could
still see the stars that way; she could
see the stars at all; I would look up again,
and see the paper stretched across the sky.