Flying in the Sky

My five-year-old daughter leans against my arm and asks me to tell her a story. I rub her head gently and begin.

“Once there was a teenage girl fascinated with the sky. Wishing she could fly as birds do, with wings flapping in the wind, she pictured large flying machines and an abundance of people overlooking the peaks of mountains. She envisioned herself holding her parents hands, her hair blowing behind her shoulders, whisking through the clouds watching the earth below, its roundness a marvel. Oh, she dreamed of carefree days with no worries about school or fitting in with friends. One day she will fly her troubles away, way up in the sky.”

My daughter is calmly asleep.

I remember this girl. I am still waiting to fly.