Traces of a child’s magical thinking thread through the everyday, like tiny stars tangled in a fairy’s tulle skirt.

We squint at the winter sunlight glancing off the glittering snow. In the evenings, we thread stories onto our fingers while gazing at the aurora borealis dancing on our ceiling.

We count our fingers in whispers, back and forth—one, two, three, four, five – once I caught a fish alive.