Night Flying
Night sparkled with the glowy white kisses of stars hanging up in the heavens. It was a sight from ages past, one that children would lay and laugh under on warm spring nights, pointing small hands to the sky in awe at Abraham’s uncountable inheritance. Whimsical fireflies wove in and out of the brilliant gas giants and rocky planets so far away, teasing the memory of children on their backs grasping for things so far away but so near while s oft clouds hugged the moon, wrapping it like a gift for the morning when she woke. A yawn was heard deep and breathy from under a massive oak tree nearby.
The man from the mountains was found sprawled on the grass, limbs mirroring the beast of a tree he slept under, roots cradling him in nature’s perfect bed. Moonlight was spilling through its gift wrapping wetting the oak with lovely reflected light that danced over the mountain man’s closed eyes, the result of which being visions of movement in his half awake, half asleep self. Prayers began fluttering like butterflies out of his mouth finding rest on the leaves of the tree, and eventually God’s great ears.
Waking from sleep itself, the oak soaked in the rising prayers, and playing in God’s great telephone game, whispered the message to the mountain man’s resting body: “Son, Flying you pray, and flying you seek. Love in the heavens, love underneath.”
Stirring abruptly, the man opened his eyes, losing the lovely dance of moonlight behind their lids.
Comprehension dawned. “I need to fly, that’s it! Why didn’t I listen?”
This was immediately obvious to him for the first time. Energized through some extreme amount of grace, the mountain man lept to his feet forgetting his shadow behind him. He found himself above the ground swimming into the sprinkled sky. Feeling like the biggest boy, he floated to the moon and there God was waiting.
“It took you long enough. I’ve been patient though. I knew you would hear me.”
It was the best night never slept in all his years.
