I must have said this rhyme thousands of times. On cold crisp Forresian nights, on sultry Canarian evenings, atop hills, on beaches, with friends, with a special someone, alone….I’ve looked up to the sky and wished a wish upon a star.
I did just that last night.
I was tidying up a few bits in the second floor rooms in our house when I looked up, out of the Velux window. And there, twinkling high above the rooftops and busy-ness and light pollution of East London and the Olympic Park, was a star, twinkling. And the old rhyme sprang to mind, unbidden, and suddenly I was making a wish.
Even though I’m a grown up, and I know wishes don’t always come true, the compulsion to make the wish remains. And I’m glad I still do this, because it reminds me of all the wishes I made at 5, at 12, at 23…and reminds me how lucky I am to have had so many of my wishes come true.
Of course, I can’t tell you what the most recent one was…