Star swept

Amanda walked outside one night and looked up at the slate sky. Snow had been falling all day and by night a cold silence hushed the busy streets.

A streetlamp cast it's warm, yellow glow on the undisturbed snow. It seemed to her that the Heavens had cast the stars from the sky and there they lay at her feet, shattered, nothing left but glistening star dust.

"Could I make a wish?" she whispered.

"Hello stars," she began, and continued on, sharing her tale they must already know.

My child is sick again, for the fourth time in four months. This time was worst than the last three. She sighed, watching the fog from her breath drift and disappear. She wondered, if she practiced could she make shapes with her breath in the cold night air? An icy breeze ruffled her hair. She shivered, but stood still, watching the earthbound stars wink at her.

"She's just a baby," she implored. Twenty five years she'd been a mother and never had one of her children got this sick, this often. They all had scary moments, all three ended up in the hospital at one time or another, but recovered. An unknown virus, a severe asthma attack, an emotional breakdown, an assault.

"I'm their mother, their guardian, their protector,"

"You can't protect them from everything," the stars seemed to whisper in unison.

She nodded with sorrowful understanding, then let the tears come, silently falling like the star swept snow at her feet.