Sky

Rosalita answered the door and greeted the neighbor, who wished her and her family well. She took the plate offered with gratitude, a smile, and a promise that she would offer Grandmother a big piece of the delicious flan when she was back. The person nodded, beaming, and went on their way. "Another offering for Nana!" she called out, bringing the plate into the kitchen, where her mother quickly took it, placed it in the fridge, and made a scribble in a notebook on the counter (who had brought what and when). "Rosalita, go out and check the tether, and remove any flowers that have died," her mother instructed, and she did as she was told. On the patio, the chain held, leading from the wrought iron leg of a comfortable divan bolted to the concrete up, up, up into the clouds (where she could no longer see the familiar white braid tied with blue ribbons). Rosalita resisted the urge to tug on the chain (as that was forbidden) and scanned the bouquets of roses, marigolds, honeysuckle, and sword lilies for casualties - removing them carefully and putting them with a word of thanks on the fire. She felt her mother's arms fold around her from the back and leaned in; she smelled of cocoa and sweet herbs. "It is a beautiful and yet kind of scary thing to tend a Skymother," she whispered. "Are you all right?" Rosalita nodded and squeezed her hands. "I am ... very proud," she whispered back. "I hope Nana has wonderful stories to tell after her travels." Her mother steered Rosalita gently into the house for a cup of hot chocolate.