And outside, miracles occurred.

     Thirteen minutes after the first star fell, another streaked through the sky to its left, at a perfect twenty-degree angle. And every thirteen minutes, another star fell, until thirteen had fallen in all, each aligned perfectly with the thirteen cardinal points on the compass—at least as cardinal points are understood by crows.

      And in Dallas, Oregon, small wonders broke out everywhere, though no one—at least no humans—took notice.

      Thirteen dazed children suddenly put aside their video games and rushed to do homework. Thirteen mutts began to howl so beautifully that the nuns at St. Mary’s thought that it was a heavenly choir announcing the Second Coming. In Ben’s backyard the snowman leaned over, picked up the carrot, screwed it onto his face, and trudged away.

      While at Noah’s Ark pet shop, the greatest wonder of all occurred. Beneath the pale lights thrown by the fish tanks that held the neon tetras, a mother mouse gave birth.

      Twelve small, pink kittens she had in her nest, all with eyes closed. The other mice gathered in awe. Even the angelfish across the room gaped with eyes as bright as gold coins.

      The lights above the fish tanks flashed brightly, and their green glow came together to form something that lived and breathed. Thirteen luna moths appeared, circling above the mouse pen like a crown, pale green wings flapping in unison, graceful tails sweeping behind. The feeder crickets at the front counter began to fiddle beautifully as the thirteenth mouse made its way, squeaking and squirming, into the world.

      As it dropped into the wood shavings, a wise old mouse named Barley Beard said reverently, “Thirteen, and the last is a girl—just as the prophets foretold. A thirteenth miracle on this night of miracles!”

      “But grandfather,” a young mouse asked, “what’s so special about this mouse?”

      Barley Beard said, “I only know that the number thirteen is normally unlucky, and in some ways this kit is destined to lead a dangerous life, for her enemies will seek to destroy her. Yet on this night of nights, all of the fortune in the world will flow into this child.”

      “You mean she’ll be lucky?” the young one asked.

      “More than lucky—” Barley Beard said, “she’ll be magic! Not since us small creatures ruled the earth has a mouse like this been born.” Barley Beard peered at the glass walls of his cage, longing to escape. He didn’t need to remind the young ones that to be born in a cage was hard indeed. No mouse of the field could be born to a more humble fate.

      Barley Beard only hoped that the young kit would find a way to free them all.

      A shadow darkened the window, and Barley Beard glanced outside. A snowman plodded past, dressed in a fine top-hat, twirling a cane.
Odd, Barley Beard thought, as he watched the man of snow waddle under the streetlight, ice crystals glittering like diamonds.

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