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.
