He rises and sees the light through the blinds. He winces. His eyes ache and his back is sore. Looking through the window, as he does each morning, he sees the light is paler and stranger than usual. In the ancient sky a bright dot arcs down in a slow rotation. A falling star. He watches its course for a while, wondering who or what will lay their wishes upon it, and if any of them will come true, before sitting back. It is not yet dawn. His wish comes to fruition. He closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.
Paddy Dobson
20th May 2021