wishing

Tonight, down the hill at the picnic table: smoke from a dying fire, the voices of adults sitting on camp chairs, shouts from the children having a last swing before bedtime. I look up into a warm dark sky. Through the bare branches of the black walnut, the moon curves and the stars come out. A child's voice: "Star light, star bright. . ." And later, walking up the stairs to the house, laden with empty cups and leftovers, Elspeth and Bea and I look up at the stars again. I try to think of what to wish for, and the first thing that comes to my mind is a vague wish for ever more successes in my writing, but then Elspeth says, "For sweet dreams!" and my perspective shifts from my exhausted wishing for more to a gentler hope for lasting, good things, for the happiness of those I love and yes, for a sweet sleep this night.