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 by Frank Shortt
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Favorite Star
        A small hand clutches mine. We walk out into the clear, star-studded night. I feel warmth infuse my whole body as we keep our appointment as stargazers.
        “There’s Three Sisters!” my companion exclaims.
        “Look, there’s the Great Fir Tree!” I cry.
        We go on naming the stars we know; Big Dipper, Little Dipper, as the night wears on.
        Neither of us wants to name the constellation which we both know we really came to see.
        He looms brightly in the southeastern sky, pushing upward among a myriad of glitter. Yes, there are the stars comprising his belt. There are the stars angling down forming his sword. Easily identifiable he has become to us.
        “Poppy! There’s my favorite constellation,” he declares as I allow him first dibs.
        Kenny is my last grandchild to enjoy stargazing with me.
        “Yes, it is my favorite also, Kenny,” I affirm.
        Orion stares down at us mortals probably seeing us merely as ants.
        We exchange a hug before heading back to the warmth of home.
        Hot chamomile tea and a cozy bed await us.