On my hip, her legs hang down to my knees. Her nose runs in the cold, cheeks surprised and red.
I point out the moon, hanging halfway to the horizon, an odd spot in the morning sky. She looks at me.
Touch she says. It's a question. I laugh and start to tell her that its far away
but then.
Stop.
Try I say. We both reach out. It's warmer than I expected.
We walk home and her chin lifts high, exposing her warm neck to the whole wide world.
Sky. Move move move move she says. The wind shoves the clouds forward and the hair away from her face.
I don't need to look up to see what she sees.
Yes the sky is moving.
It's magic to me, too.
