That night in a bush in the park we waited for the mother to come for her daughter. Squatting as we were we shone the lantern towards the center of the garden to see the event. A little bird fluttered in the sky just as the moon appeared. This is how he had told us before.
He left us fond
memories. Among which: How to play with animals, or mimic the whistling of
birds.
Now that many years have passed, I think of the girl of those times, transformed into one of the millions of stars of the night. I also imagine her accompanied by the mother of silver threads back to earth. Perhaps he will play with other children again and tell them other stories. It must still be the same, because in the gods the years are a few moments, while in the man they are a lifetime.