At three, I stretched out my
hand to touch them, small fingers reaching towards a blackness I did not
comprehend, thinking it a sparkling curtain throughout which they shimmer, and
which I could draw back for a better view, burning my ego if not the tips of
fingers when I could not, and enraged when like the myth of Santa Claus, the
tooth fairy and the Easter Bunny, I would never reach to where they are, of
penetrate their mystery, forever beyond my touch, those jewels more valuable
than diamonds, and more mysterious than God.