Fly me to the moon

When I was in third grade, I wanted to be an astronaut. Everything I wanted was up on that moon. I themed everything I could in my school work around being in space. We went to DC for a family trip and going to the Air and Space Museum was like walking in one of my dreams. I wanted to go to Space Camp so badly. My parents were never in a position to send me there. It was my pony. I really saw myself floating around in the shuttle, floating M&M's and Tang to another astronaut. Looking at space in a different view. I would lie there in my bedroom, and I could see through my window the stars. It was like I had my own block of sky right there, this one square of sky that belonged to me.

I wonder if I have any dreams as lofty as those were. I gave up on it, because I think as a worldly fourth grader, I realized how hard it was to be an astronaut -- how much science and competitveness was involved. How it was almost like wishing to be President. It was out of grasp. I am not sure what my dream changed to then -- but I do remember I never stopped keeping my head in the sky. I am still there sometimes. There is nothing more satisfying to me than a really good sky. Crisp, clear -- sharp points of light reaching out to be wished on, counted on. One of my favorite skies was one night in Fredonia -- Jay and I had gone for a walk and found ourselves at the ampitheatre. The sky was so clear -- but there were a few huge white billowy clouds. They were illuminated by the moon. They were so white and bright against that black sky. I remember just lying on my back not wanting that sky to go away. Wishing that I could make the sun wait just a little bit longer so I could have it. Time is like that when things are good -- wanting to hold it in your grasp, trying to put the brakes on the rotation of the earth. But we all just keep spinning, your dreams changing with the seasons sometimes. Other ones weather it all. Tough, resilent, staying with you.