"Thank you!" She yelled and drew her arm above her head and waved to the long thin cloud stark against the darkening sky. The footprints of some indifferent jet with busier, more important plans than we as we wandered among the small streets near our house. Only I knew that as a child she believed the white streak in the sky to be a gift, a free service a jet would willingly bestow upon the masses below. She divulged this secret of her past one day as we wandered as we often would and I couldn't stop laughing. From then I would always point them out and thank the jet. At first she did not care for this playful mocking but eventually it became another myth that swam in the space between us and we both would reach up to the sky and thank the kind pilots whenever a white arch caught our eye.
Slowly the streak dissipated, clearing out for winking stars and the slow drift of more substantial clouds.
"Chem trail." She said.