SKY LUCK

A child frustrated by his inability to spot any shooting stars discovers that they aren’t the sky’s only wonders.

As others around him marvel at a meteor shower’s streaks of light, the unnamed boy sees only a full moon smiling down, the “creamy dots” of the Milky Way, a satellite “twinkle-twinkling gently, like a lullaby.” “Nothing special,” he thinks. His uncle disagrees. “Sky luck comes in many forms, all of them amazing in different ways.” Take the moon, he goes on, the “biggest and brightest object of the night,” strong enough to make tides rise and fall. Or beyond that, think of billowing clouds that look like ancient animals, of “creamsicle” sunsets and shimmering northern lights. Sky luck is infinite, and it’s all around us, too. Sure enough, when the boy next looks up, he sees with new eyes: “The whole sky [is] full.” Light-skinned like his uncle, the lad stands beneath broad, starry expanses in Smith’s open rural settings, looking thoughtful and solitary even when surrounded by a diverse group of family and friends. A starter list of further wonders, from dawn and dusk to rainbows and thunderstorms, caps this quietly lyrical invitation to understand how rewarding it can be to simply look up.

A celestial insight, simple but profound.