“Great, Mr. Eagle,” The Child said, giggling. “I love to see your wings spread out.”
The eagle, flying above her, circled, then glided, letting the wind carry him, and The Child spread her arms wide to imitate him. Giggles of suppressed laughter erupted out of her mouth.
“I’m an eagle too, Mr. Eagle.”
“Gaaaak, Gaaaak, Gaaaak.”
“ Are you laughing at me?” And The Child flapped her arms.
“Gaaaak, Gaaaak, Gaaaak,” said Mr. Eagle, swooping past her.
Coming up behind her, he latched onto the collar of her blouse with his beak.
“Oh, Mr. Eagle, don’t drop me. I can’t fly,” she said, as he glided with her out on the ocean.
“Looks like you can, Child,” said The Prophet.
“Prophet!” The Child shouted, hanging from the eagle’s beak. “Mr. Eagle, there’s the Prophet I told you about.”
The eagle glided toward the lily pad and released her, and then flapping his wings, he flew upward.
“Don’t fly away, Mr. Eagle.”
“He’ll be back, Child.”
“How do you know? And where have you been? And where is Mr. Whale?”
“Come, Child. Eat some of this fresh fish. You look tired.”
“Turning that hourglass of yours, being left alone with sharks coming at me, who wouldn’t be tired, Prophet?
“You were never alone. Your Mr. Eagle was here.”
“But he flew away.”
“Did he return?”
“Sure, he returned, but…”
“But what, Child?”
“I never knew when.”
“Come, eat, so you can sleep.”
The Child giggled.
“You’re giggling.”
“I can’t help but giggle.”
“Why’s that, Child?”
“Because you haven’t answered my questions.”
“Would you like to hear a story before you sleep?”
Shalom,
Pat Garcia
