Something beneath Grandma's luminous corpse.
Winter's cold breeze gives what it takes, and we were set on a single floor house with a courtyard in between. Generations come with a different number of children. Grandma had three: my father, my uncle and my aunt. My father had two, my uncle and aunt each had three themselves. At that time we were eight grandchildren, two male, six female. Grandma got sick and lost her ability to move, or talk, or even to breathe. But sickness respected the light in her eyes. It was Sofia's birthday, the firstborn of my aunt. And she was always particularly connected to Grandma, she looked a lot like her when she was young. That day, instead of cake or alcohol, we had numerous gnostic and catholic rituals to wave her soul away. She held on to us until she heard the last words from all of her grandchildren. I told her that I loved her and that there's nothing to fear. She was spirit strong, that led to a successful fifty year marriage, 'til death did them apart.
We kept her for another day in the deathbed, her sisters came from the city with their children (all grown ups) and some of their grandchildren that were close to her. They all waved goodbye to a peaceful looking beautiful corpse. It wasn't agonic to anybody, but it was kind of sad to all of us. She had a glass stand filled with toy frogs and ornamental frogs. That was her leap. I closed my eyes and saw essential light spores jumping with grace taking the form of a frog straight to a big white star. Then it was all tears and liquid laments.
The discovery day came with the funerary service taking the body case of my grandma away. Between the wrinkles left on the bed, I found an egg. And it began cracking lightly. A little amphibian face looked at me, with the same look grandma gave me when I told her not to be afraid. It was kinda like a frog with little feathers on it. The sky outside the window was clear. And I thought clearly for the first time in days. I took the feathered frog within my hands, we heated. It tried to jump, but was still a little baby creature with no developed survival abilities. I took it to the roof where I looked at the stars. I lived on a city with no visible sky, and I loved to see the sky every time I visited my grandparents. For the time we were there, the feathered frog and I, taking a deep look to the shiniest stars, it had developed greater feathers with a golden tint on the tiny hair that feathers have. It jumped from my hands and expanded a hummingbird like wings, landed on my cheek and whispered to my ear in some language foreign to mankind. I took it with my hands once more, it stared into my eyes, gave me a smile and flew away into the sky with gracious movements until it was just a tiny spot disappearing between the stars.
That moment I realised that stars are alive. And I also realised that my Grandma is a big one, the one that looks like a feathered frog, always in a leap.