The Milky Way — the supreme wanting well
One of my family’s favourite activities is sitting around the firepit below a clear night sky, outfitted with blankets and all the fixings for s’mores, of course.

The pandemic patio buy has functioned well on Saturday nights throughout the seasons as we look into the stars as our entertainment. We figure out the constellations and planets that punch through the dark with lighting which elicits a miracle and hope that I find myself clinging to more these days.
To this day, I cannot visit the night’s sky without feeling pressured to focus my sights on the brightest star and recite a poem I heard as a kid:
“Star light, star bright
First star I see tonight
I wish I may, I wish I might

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Of all of the tales and rhymes shoved into my mind over the span of a life, this little poem about wishing on a star that my mother taught me has stuck like superglue into my brain.
I was taught to recite this little ditty, a 19th century children’s poem, prior to putting my very best desire on the first star I seen in the twinkling night sky.
Those moments were constantly full of wonder and hope, like I had been looking into my soul and my future all at one time. (My wishes, clearly, were secrets so I can not let you know exactly what they were.)
The rhyme still runs over in my head as I peer out in the equally striking starlight sky as an adult and I utter aloud to my toddler, prepping another generation to continue the tradition. I’ll admit it — I still wish on stars frequently.