Remembering Sally

There's an opening,

looking up beyond the storm

which provides passage.

When I was in junior high, babysitting for 50 cents an hour, I often sat with a little girl named Sally. I remember her as precocious, with long, straight hair...a child who knew how to play. When she died in a house fire, (and after being allowed to view the ashes), I walked back home, feeling a child's sense of lost life.  I remember looking up to see just a small sight of blue in the clouds and imagined this to be her passage to heaven. Decades later, whenever I look up to see even the smallest of openings in the clouds on a stormy day, Sally comes to mind. I expect she always will.