“I’m lost, Prophet.”
“How can you be lost, Child? We’ve just left the cove.”
“It seems like it.”
“What makes you think you’re lost?”
“I don’t know. Every now and then, it all seems so hard.”
“What seems so hard? Talk to me.”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t know. You have to tell me.”
“I just told you. I’m lost.”
“But why do you think you’re lost?”
“Cause everything is so hard, Prophet.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve been sailing with the lily pad for ages and nothing happens.”
“Not ages, Child.”
“But it seems like ages.
“Oh,” said The Prophet. “What’s that coming at you?”
“Where?”
“In front of you, Child.”
“It looks like a shark. Now, I know I’m lost.”
“That shark is getting mighty close.”
“Wait until he gets here, Prophet. I’ll show him a thing or two.”
“Sounds like you’re angry, Child.”
“I’m always angry when I’m impatience.”
“Oh, is that why you think you’re lost?”
“I don’t know.”
A dorsal fin was threading the water, quickly; waves were flooding onto the lily pad; The Child picked up a piece of wood she’d brought from the cove to hit its eyes.
The wind was blowing hard––the ocean, no longer quiet.
“Gaaaak, gaaaak.”
The Child looked upward toward the white, fluffy, cumulus clouds, astonished.
“Mr. Eagle,” she cried, waving. “Here I am.”
“Gaaaak, gaaaak,” said Mr. Eagle.
“Don’t forget your shark, Child.”
The big, black, shape closed in and sprang high.
“Mr. Whale! It’s you. Oh, my friend, where have you been?”
The Child danced on the water, and her small arms grabbed his dorsal fin.
“Prophet?”
“Yes, Child.”
“I love friends.”
“Yes, true friends sparkle like diamonds, Child, woven into the pattern of our lives,” The Prophet said, and Mr. Eagle landed at his feet.
Shalom,
Pat Garcia
