I came home from school one Thursday afternoon, and found a cream envelope from the Brigham Young University Department of English sitting on the counter. My name and address were typed in courier new. I love mail. I ripped it open.

Inside was one sheet of paper, and typed on it was this:


The Meaning of Life

I listen late into the night
for the music of the spheres.
I look religiously at faroff stars
trying to see what matters.
Stars seldom look back.

Last night I saw granddaughters
dancing, all giggle and wiggle,
hips and hair everywhere,
wild as seeding dandelions.
When I came in

Hayley stumbled toward me
arms opening, smile widening,
tongue tripping over "Grampa,"
"Grampa" -- liking me this moment
more than lively music.

Searching for my soul as far as Orion,
Trying to distill happiness from starshine,
hungry for the life in constellated light,
I find myself sometimes illuminated
in the stars in Hayley's eyes.

And then, hand-written:

This is from when you were three or four- inspiring even then. -Grandpa

I'm the luckiest, with a grandpa like that.

Stop, drop, and roll.