Now this tiny smudge of a star I see is close enough for closed eyes, but just when I begin trusting it to stay even with eyes unclosed it dances far away with backward steps, delicately arched neck, defiant, jutting out chin, come-and-get-me pout and wriggling shoulders.
And because I don't know how near or how far it is going to be at any given moment, I don't know how to get hold of it. At times I manage to touch it fleetingly, though my grasp is never right. If I cup my hands, it falls through. If I catch it between a finger and a thumb, it slithers down. If I grab it with one hand, I get beaten by its breadth and end up barely touching it. So I am thinking maybe the thing to do is to pretend not to notice at all (of course I'll be watching from the corner of my eye,) and then when it's creeping behind my back, burning with the curiosity to see what I am up to, or why I haven't called, I nothing short of pounce on it and keep it pinned down, till it coughs up the promise to stay.
First published in Sugar Mule, January 2013.