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Fiery Skies

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


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