Primrose

A little girl and her father sat on a quiet hill in the dark night. They were looking at the city beneath them and marveled at how small the lights looked.

"What do you want for your birthday?" the father asked her.

The little girl looked up at the stars and wished they could be shinier. She pointed her finger up at one particularly bright star and smiled wistfully.

"You want a star?"

It was twinkling at her, winking and smiling and laughing and beckoning her to come. The girl turned away to look at her father and nodded.

He was grinning at her and leaned back on his elbows. "You want to go there? You want to leave this hill and run to the star?"

The girl giggled, but she shook her head. Gently, she reached out towards the winking star and tried to close it into her palm. But when she opened her hand, there was nothing there and the star was still winking at her.

Her father laughed. "You want to touch it?"

He got up and walked away, his steps softly dying away in the silence. The little girl tried to wink back at the star, but she couldn't.

Her father came back and sat down. "Did you know some stars live in flowers? Give me your hand," he said. He placed a flower in her palm and she smiled.

Now she could touch the star.