The Snow Globe

Once a time ago, a child is given a snow globe by an aunt or an uncle, he can't remember which. Inside the globe, a little man sits on a bench looking at a little woman. On her feet are silver slippers, and her arms are outstretched as if to embrace the sky.

When he shakes it, the world inside becomes alive. He thinks it's magic, but he doesn't know for sure, he is only a child.

His conscience, a cornucopia of hopes. On this night, he shares it with the graceful woman in silver slippers. He takes her hand, for he has much to say. She listens attentively, but she already knows what it will be. She loves the way his hair falls across the small scar on his cheek. The way he smiles before a sentence, as if to be sure she is following him. He has so much to tell her, but the snowing always ends too soon. There's never enough time.

Tomorrow, she says, we'll stretch our arms farther across the infinite, to be born again

within the past. Skirts whirling, she turns round and round. Her slippers dissolve in a slivery blur. A snowfall of stars descends.

The child is sleepy. He stops shaking the globe, places it carefully on his dresser. But before climbing in bed, he looks again at the snow globe. Just for an instant, it seems

the little man is waving as if to say goodbye.