“Eeeek, eeek,” mumbled The Child as she tossed and turned in her sleep, and she awoke.
“I’m okay,” she said loudly to herself. “It’s okay to be different. Everyone is unique.” And she turned over to see the sunrise.
It was then that she became aware of the stillness. The ocean wasn’t roaring; the lily pad was drifting; Mr. Whale wasn't flipping his fluke in the water, and The Prophet wasn't preparing the seaweed.
“Prophet, Mr. Whale, where are you?”
She looked down into the water but saw only her reflection.
"Mr. Whale," she shouted, "Are you down there?"
No answer, and as she looked out across the ocean, she observed something coming toward her.
The Child got up, prepared her seaweed and hoped that The Prophet and Mr. Whale would show up soon. She took The Prophet’s knotted rope and his half-minute sand glass and, let it down into the ocean to measure the distance and the speed.
“I’m floating at one and half knots,” she said, “Whatever it is I will meet in the afternoon.”
Suddenly, the wind blew, and a forceful blast lifted her up from the lily pad.
“Eeeek, eeek,” The Child screamed. “Prophet, help me!”
Caught in the wind blast, it spun her up out onto the ocean, and then, dropped her.
“Eeeek, eeek,” The Child cried, falling, and something bit onto the collar of her blouse, holding her high. Afraid to look, she closed her eyes as it transported her. It sat her down gently on the lily pad.
She opened her eyes and stared at it, and it stared back at her.
The Child reached out and touched its beak.
“Hello, Mr. Eagle.” The Child said. “Thank you.”
Shalom,
Pat Garcia
