The Memory of Flight

 When you looked cleverly amongst the broken places between the trees at night, you saw the stars. And among them, a particular star, the one that danced and twinkled and said, 'I'm here. Wish on me.'

    Which, of course, you did. For what else was there to do with such a kind offer?

    You wished, quite naturally, that you could fly. And up, up, up you went into the sky, soaring about on air as though you had wings. And, who knows, perhaps you did? For there was no one to witness the fulfillment of your wish. And indeed it felt as though air coursed through gleaming, slick feathers, pushing you up and and around, higher and lower, through spinning whirlwinds and about stark drafts. 

    You came down from your wish elated with the knowledge that you had flown.

    But all the wind that flew you about had moved the trees in such a way that you could no longer see the wishing star.

    In all your long life, you never again found it.

    But you never forgot that one night, the one where you wished upon a star and flew. And that has made all the difference.

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