Il etait une fois.

Overhead in the sky, puffy cumulus clouds pile up, one above the other, hardly moving. Below, tall prairie grasses ripple quietly in a barely perceptible breeze. A young boy in the middle of a plowed field flaps his arms, spinning top-like, bare feet kicking up clouds of russet-colored dust. Round and round, arms flung out straight, his fingers trace the edged of the earth where it meets the sky. The clear air radiates out in all directions, encircling the boy, beginning at his feet, reaching to the horizon, continuing on to other planets, and further still, beyond measurement, without end through countless universes. The boy tries to pull his body free of gravity, spinning at the bottom of the sky ocean, jumping g into the boundless space, turning, turning, turning, spinning, spinning: churning waves in the scalding hot summer air, speeding silent messages to unseen stars.