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Fiery Skies
inutile

One night, seventeen years ago,
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my daughter, all of three years old,
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stared, mesmerised, into the campfire.
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Turning her innocent face towards me,
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she asked, “Is that how
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stars are made?” indicating the
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lazily upward-drifting sparks.
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I hesitated, considering my response.
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I wanted to tell her all
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about the properties of fire and air,
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and the basics of astrophysics,
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but when I saw her own star-filled eyes,
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her trusting, excited face,
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I, her father, said “Yes,
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and that’s why there are no stars when it rains.”
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10/22/05

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