The Wishing Star

Deep in the mountains, in a forested vale, a meadow sang with the magic of summer. The trees were emerald green, the sky azure blue, and the wildflowers a kaleidoscope of color. The flush of life coursed through all that called this meadow home. From the largest to the smallest, be they plant, animal, or mineral, each vibrated with life’s thrum. 

On the meadow’s edge, where dense canopy gave way to wide-open sky, a stream tumbled out of the forest. An ancient Maple stood on its bank. Its roots sunk deep and its branches spread wide. This tree, this giver and protector of life, was home to many, including a band of unlikely friends. 

Azure, Birch, River, and Sky had all been born that spring. Azure was a caterpillar, Birch was a cub, and Sky and River were kits, although one was a squirrel and the other a raccoon. Hank was part of the gang, too. He was Azure’s ladybug best friend. But Hank was a year older than the others, and his soul older yet. 

One evening, as the sky blazed with the umber of sunset, the friends sat nestled in the maple’s leafy top. They played Questions Without Answers as they waited for the wishing star.

“When did time begin?” asked Hank. 

“Which was the first star?” asked Birch

“Who invented snacks?” asked River.

The whole group groaned. River was always thinking about food.

“I’ve got the best one!” said Sky. “Why are blue jays so annoying?”

“You win!" the friends agreed.

"But only this round," River added. "Mine was a good one."

The friends offered their questions in turn, until, as the last streaks of color faded from the evening, Azure dared to wonder, “What will I become?” 

“That’s not a question without an answer,” Birch replied.

“Yes, it is,” Azure said.

“But we all know the answer,” Sky insisted. “Birch will become a bear, River will become a raccoon, I’ll become a squirrel, and you’ll become a…”

“Exactly,” said Azure. “What do caterpillars become?” 

“Well, what’s long, green, and wiggly and has a fake forked tongue?” asked River. “You’re a little one of those now, so you’ll be a big one when you grow up.”

“I don’t know,” Azure replied, shrugging.

“It’s ok if you don’t know,” Sky said, “because whatever you’ll be, you’ll still be our friend.”

“Forever,” Birch agreed. 

“And ever,” said River and Hank at the same time.

“Thanks,” said Azure, “but I still wish I knew.” 

“I get it,” Birch said, “I wonder what kind of bear I’ll be all the time.” 

“And I wonder what kind of squirrel I’ll be,” said Sky. 

“You need to know,” Birch said, “If you don’t, how can you dream about what you’ll become?”

The friends lapsed into silence, lost in their own minds trying to figure out what Azure would grow up to be. Except for Hank. He already knew. He also knew he had to let Azure discover it for herself because that’s how dreams work: No one can achieve them for you.

As they thought, the world grew dark around them, the bright colors of day silenced by the black of night. A chilly breeze blew down canyon, sending a shiver through the group. Birch’s tummy had the softest, warmest fur, so they snuggled into her. 

When night reached its deepest indigo, a spark arced high above them.

“There it is!” shouted Sky, and the friends began to chant:

“Shooting star, shining bright,

First to soar across the night,

Hear my words and make ‘em true,

I send my wish straight up to you.”

“It’s your wish,” Birch told Sky. “You saw it first.”

“Nope,” Sky replied. “Tonight, it’s Azure’s.”

Turning her face upward, Azure sent her wish to the heavens: “What will I become?”