That was when she saw it. High above the mountains, a long white cloud stretched from one end of the sky to the other. It wasn’t puffy like the clouds that sometimes looked like rabbits or bears or ships. This one was smooth and winding. It narrowed, widened, curved, and then disappeared behind a tower of clouds far away. Ginger shaded her eyes with one hand. “That looks like a river.”

She stared at it for a long time. Once she had decided it was a river, it became impossible for it to be anything else. There it was—a great silver-white river flowing through the blue sky. Ginger sat on a warm rock and pulled her knees against her chest. She wondered where the river began. Maybe somewhere beyond the mountains there was a lake no person had ever found. Perhaps it was so high that airplanes flew underneath it without knowing it was there.

And if there was a river, Ginger thought, there ought to be a boat.

She lay back in the dry grass, and almost immediately the ground beneath her seemed to disappear. In Ginger’s imagination, a little wooden boat waited beside the riverbank in the sky. It was just the right size for her. Its sail was pale blue, its ropes were silver, and along one side someone had painted a tiny orange sun. Ginger climbed aboard. There was no paddle and no motor, but the boat didn’t need either one. The river knew where it was going.

It carried her away.

Ginger sailed over the mountains first. From the sky, their peaks looked close enough to touch. She leaned over the side of the boat and watched shadows move through the canyons far below. Roads became thin gray strings, and houses looked like little blocks scattered across the earth.

Soon she passed an island made entirely of clouds. White trees grew there, their branches twisting into the blue. A flock of birds rested along the shore, folding their wings after a long journey. “Hello!” Ginger called. One bird lifted its head. Ginger waved, and the bird seemed to nod before tucking its head beneath its wing again.

The river carried her onward. Ahead, something sparkled in the water. Ginger leaned over the side and saw stars—hundreds of them. Tiny stars floated beneath the surface like silver pebbles. Some were no bigger than buttons, while others glowed softly in the deep water below her boat. Ginger reached down, and the moment her fingers touched the river, one little star floated into her hand.

It was warm.

Ginger held it carefully between her palms. “How did you get down here?” The star didn’t answer. Perhaps it had fallen from the night sky and was waiting for darkness so it could go home. Ginger placed it gently back into the river. “You better get where you belong before morning.” The star flashed once and disappeared beneath the boat.

Farther ahead, the river divided. One branch curved toward a golden place where the clouds glowed as though the sun were hiding inside them. The other disappeared into enormous purple-gray clouds that rose higher than mountains. Ginger looked from one to the other. The golden way looked beautiful. The dark way looked interesting.

Ginger steered toward the dark clouds.

The air changed immediately. The river beneath her boat grew restless. Small waves slapped against the sides, and the pale blue sail snapped in the wind. Ginger held tightly to the edge of the boat as a low rumble rolled through the clouds. Thunder. “All right,” Ginger said. “Maybe this wasn’t my best idea.”

A flash of light appeared inside the cloud. For one bright second Ginger could see everything—the river, the boat, and the enormous walls of cloud around her. Then darkness returned. The river began moving faster. Ginger’s little boat rushed around a bend, and suddenly she saw that the river ended just ahead.

She stared.

It didn’t exactly end.

It fell.

The entire river poured over the edge of the sky.

Ginger scrambled to her knees. “Oh!” The boat raced closer. She grabbed the silver ropes and tried to pull the sail around, but the wind had other ideas. The edge came nearer and nearer until Ginger could see the earth far below. Then the boat tipped forward.

Ginger squeezed her eyes shut.

Down she went.

But instead of falling, she became light. The boat disappeared. The river disappeared. Ginger seemed to break into a thousand cool drops of water tumbling through the air. She fell through clouds, past birds, over the mountains, and down toward the thirsty desert. One drop landed on a dusty road. Another struck the roof of a house. Another splashed against a flower.

And one landed directly on Ginger’s nose.

Ginger opened her eyes.

She was lying in the grass. The river was still above her, but it had changed. The long white cloud had broken apart, and enormous storm clouds were gathering over the mountains. Their bottoms had turned dark gray. Ginger sat up. For a moment she wasn’t sure where she had been. Had she fallen asleep? Had she been dreaming? She touched the tip of her nose.

Dry.

A low rumble rolled across the mountains. Ginger smiled. “Thunder.” She stood and watched as a gray curtain appeared beneath the clouds. Rain was falling far away, blurring part of the mountains behind it. Ginger started toward home, but halfway across the yard, something cold struck her arm. She stopped. A perfect round drop of water rested against her skin. Then another landed beside her shoe, making a dark circle in the dust.

Ginger looked toward the sky. “Found you.”

The rain came quickly after that. Fat drops splattered against the ground, and the dusty smell of the desert changed into the rich smell that came only when rain finally reached dry earth. Ginger ran toward the porch, laughing as the drops struck her hair, her cheeks, and the back of her shirt.

By the time she reached shelter, water was pouring from the roof. Ginger stood at the edge of the porch and watched little streams form beside the road. Water hurried through the dirt, twisting around rocks and carrying tiny leaves along with it. Puddles appeared where moments before there had been nothing but dust. Ginger held out her hand and let the rain collect in her palm.

She wondered whether somewhere inside one of those drops was the little star she had found. Maybe the birds were still resting on their cloud island. Maybe the blue-sailed boat had gone on without her.

Or maybe none of it had ever been there at all.

The next afternoon, Ginger returned to the same place. The storm had washed the sky clean, and it stretched above her, enormous and blue. A few small clouds floated near the mountains, but there was no river. Ginger searched toward the east, then turned west. Still nothing.

Then, very high above her, she noticed one thin white streak curling through the blue.

Ginger smiled.

Perhaps the river had moved. Perhaps it was always moving. Maybe it traveled over oceans while she slept and crossed forests and cities she had never seen. Maybe other children looked up from other places and saw it too, each imagining a different river and wondering where it might lead.

Ginger lay back in the grass and watched the thin white streak drift slowly across the sky. She didn’t need to decide whether she had dreamed the boat, the stars, the cloud island, or the waterfall at the end of the sky. Dreams didn’t always have to explain themselves.

Ginger closed her eyes.

Somewhere above her, the river kept flowing.

And this time, Ginger wondered where it might take her next.