“Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” she whispered.
Ever since she was a little girl, she had dreamed of only one thing. Grown-ups had always told her that she had her head in the clouds, and her mother had always laughed and said, no, somewhere a bit higher than that.
Like a lot of children, she had stuck glow in the dark stars all over her ceiling. Unlike other children, she had insisted that the constellations should all be correct. Her mother had bought her a miniature planetarium so they could get it just right.
She smiled, remembering the nights they spent watching the stars together.
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” her mother would sing, as they sat together on a blanket in the back garden, and she would look up and tell her off in the most serious way.
“Stars don’t really twinkle,” she would say. “It’s just refraction.”
She looked out of the shuttle window at the stars in the deep black sky, beyond the giant marble of the earth below, and they twinkled.
She blinked the tears from her eyes and looked back to her instruments.
© Kari Fay
(Author’s Note: I just had to write something today in honour of the launch of the Atlantis; the last launch in the Space Shuttle Program. I watched it live from my office; it was truly breathtaking. In other news, regular readers may notice a visual change or two- I’m trying out the new Chateau theme and it may take a few tweaks before I either settle down with it or go back!)