The Book of Our Life

Today Morgane and I are waiting for the school bus and she climbs on top of the biggest pile of snow she can find and stares up, admiring the big, blue sky. "Mom," she asks. "Are we in a book?" I think I know what she means. She realizes that life is story and stories are books. But I don't know what to say, so I think I say, "No. But, maybe." She points upward and says that the sky must be the page, the part that we can flip or turn. I'm amazed that she notices these small things, that she is so much like me. Many times I look at my life and imagine what kind of a book it would be. But not once did I think to say it out loud.