I visit LaLa. She’s old. I’m old. Godlight, sunlight, joylight, flies from my Aunt LaLa. I give her a gift of a wooden birdhouse, florally decorated, with a fake bird and silk, yellow flowers. This old lady smiles at me as she directs me to put the birdhouse on the fireplace mantel.

“I’m going to call it my Jeannebird,” she said.

“There’s a ring around the moon tonight,” said Mom.

I look out the car window, up at the glowing moon in the winter sky as Mom drives home from Nanny’s. It’s been a long, warm day at Nanny’s, and my sisters and I hate to leave and get in the cold car. Donna begged Mom if we could sleep at Nanny’s, but Mom said no.

“That means it’s going to snow tomorrow,” said Mom, as we turn onto Hollow Tree, and then left on Hillside, head to the Post Road, to Stamford.

On Hillside, Mom cuts the headlights and we glide down the hill in the dark, guided only by streetlights and house lamp dots. My sisters shriek at the thrill.

I wonder how the moon knows that, how it got so smart, how it can predict what’s going to happen tomorrow. I wish that I was as smart as that moon.