When the dishes were done, and the lights were turned down low, Grandpa took me out onto the front porch, where the night air had a bite that was as sharp as green persimmons. He pointed to the Milky Way sprawled over the sky like a string of pearls carelessly dropped from above. His calloused finger traced the constellation of Orion and he declared, ”That’s Orion. That feller’s been huntin’ up there since before my great grandaddy’s time, and he’ll be there long after we’re gone.” I squinted at Orion’s Belt trying to count the Stars between the points.

”Will he ever catch anything?” I asked as I tucked my cold hands under my armpits. Grandpa chuckled. “Nope, And that’s the point,” he replied, some things ain’t about the finishing. They’re all about the doin’. Grandpa knelt beside me, the porchboards groaning against his knees, as he pointed toward a shooting star streaking westward across the sky, “See that? “ He asked. It had turned bright and stayed that way all the way down. “Even endings got glory.”

Inside, Grandma’s shadow crossed the window and she stopped to wind the old mantel clock. In the stillness of the country air, I thought I could hear its familiar ‘tick-tock’ through the window pane, but it was only the memory fooling my ears. The distant sound of Wise Willy, the old barn owl, wafted over the distance, mixing with the scuttle of leaves against the porch-steps, creating a lullaby older than the house itself. Grandpa stood slowly, knees popping like green wood in the fireplace. “Time for bed, Lil’Bit. Dawn comes early when you’re plannin’ to search for fox kits.”

(Contributed by Patricia Lambert)