She is eight, and she has learned of planets, moons, and stars at the planetarium. Universes so big that the Milky Way is only a grain of sand inside the cosmic beach. Stars--red, dying, bigger than the sun or blue, newborn, younger than the sun--are so big they filled the entire projection screen.
She shares with her father, who was not at the planetarium, and he is proud of what she has learned, the news of freshly discovered science that excites her as much as the knowledge from the tree in the garden: the spinning grandness of creation, the brightness of burning steaming gasses whose light may reach us long after the redness fades.
But he wonders. She is learning more and more about our world. Now that the truth is known, as great as the truth may be, will the sun, when she draws it, still be a face with a smile?
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