THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL WHO CRIED WHILE THE SUN SHINED IN HER SMILE

There once was a little girl in whose laugh the bluebird sang while the sun shined in her smile.  Yet, when the gas line broke killing the young elm tree, when explorer ants were smashed so the picnic was safe, when a snail curled in upon itself when for a game some salt was poured onto its path, when the bright-brave freesias faded to straw without protest—then, without a sound, the little girl cried.

And no one knew except her stuffed gray bunny who understood the silent language the heart knows that human ears almost never hear—the sound a star makes splintering light upon the night as if alive although in fact it died a million years ago.

Just so, in the apricot dawns when fairy tears sprinkled the lawns, as the little girl ran laughing with her arms outspread to gather all the goodness in, the people heard the bluebird sing.  And they smiled, the deep inside, precious gift smile.

For no one saw the shadow of goodbye in the eyes of the little girl as she ran to catch each fleeting joy before it whispered away, because like the glow of a lost star, the brilliance of her once-child joy still lit the shadows of their days.