Recently I entered a micro fiction writing contest.

One day to write a 100 word story using an assigned genre, action and word.

I placed second in my group and was moved ahead to the next level.

Inspired my “success” I remembered how much I enjoy these sort of situations; these “assignments” that push me out of my comfort zone and force me to write without thinking; to see what shakes loose.

So today on my way to the grocery store, I decided to swing by the bookstore and see if they had any books/magazines on flash fiction writing.

I donned my mask, walked to the door and…..could not get in. Seems the book store opens at 11:00 and it was only 10:00…..

Walking back to my car I saw it.

On the pavement by the drivers door where it had not been, or had not been noticed when I exited the car….a tiny yellow star.

Easily ignored or explained away.

Except to me, it was a sign.

When my Grandfather passed away my mother (his daughter) asked for a sign. A sign that he was ok and watching over her.

He sent her a star.

She started finding them everywhere when she needed reassurance the most, in places they made no sense to be.

Confetti stars in hospital hallways. Graffitied on overpasses. A random star earring, the back still attached, found while checking the mail.

I was skeptical.

Someone at the hospital passed an exam, they had a party, there was confetti. Graffiti is everywhere in Phoenix. A spray painted star is nothing to get excited over. The earring probably belonged to the lady who delivered the mail; fell out of her pocket when she reached for a tissue. Fell out of the truck when she opened the door.

I could come up with a million scenarios.

Then I started to find them.

Random places where they made no sense to be.

Near the saber toothed tiger display at the Natural History Museum where my Grandfather took me as a child.

By the elevator where I used to work, after finishing yet another unfulfilling day.

On my desk when I attended a random writing conference.

And today when I went looking for resources at the local bookstore.

You see, my Grandfather was a writer.

He was known my many titles and many professions but who he was at his core, above and beyond all else, was a storyteller and a writer.

So, there could be a million logical reasons why I found a star near my car in the bookstore parking lot today, but I am crediting the one explanation that makes no logical sense.

I am choosing to believe that my Grandfather is looking down and that he believes in me.