by Lisa

The map flew away in a gust a few miles back.  The sun set right on time, and the stars are pretty, but of no use when north doesn’t mean anything.

A lovely little fairy flits above my head always, swooping down now and then for a kiss and a hug and a popsicle or a peanut butter and jelly with no crust.  She ate the crust twice, without complaint and with bravado, so that proves something to me in her opinion.

A handsome sparkling companion joins me for stretches, holding my hand, and offering smiles.  He drifts off, but returns sometimes when I expect and sometimes when I don’t.  Maybe he’s looking for his own map.

I’ll keep to a path, sleeping when I’m exhausted, eating when I’m starved, but moving moving moving when my legs can do the work.

There’s nothing else to do, so I do this, and remember to look up as much as I look down.

Looking down does me no good; flying is just a good hard fall interrupted by forgetting to land.