“How do I get up there?” He asked absently.
Why? formed the fleas.
Glen shrugged, getting used to his new companions.
“I’m hungry. I want to get those dates.”
We can the fleas wrote.
Yes, but – you climb.
Glen looked up the lengths of the tall slender trees, not relishing in the least, the thought of climbing them.
“I can’t climb that.”
You can do – more things.
“You mean like miraculous gifts?”
Glen sighed deeply and approached the first of the promising trees. He walked up the arch at its base and then clamped the trunk with his arms and legs. His skin burned and no doubt bruised with the effort. Progress was slow. He made it three quarters of the way toward the fronded crown. Clinging underneath a bow beneath its top, he struggled in attempts of getting on top of the bow in order to rest his weary limbs. No amount of effort righted him. Panic began to take hold. Once his limbs wearied, they would involuntarily release.
He angled his head back to look at the ground. His hope was to perhaps land in the water, but even if he took a running dive, he’d come well short. Well above the ground, his arms gave way in increments of millimetres.
The fleas hovered by his head.
No you won’t – look to Jesus.
“Help me, Lord.”
With a gasp, his hands slipped free. As he fell away from the overhanging fronds, he reached up as if hoping to clutch them. His hair snaked out like whips, wrapping themselves around the fronds and raising him up. The cloud followed him on his ascent. As soon as the top of the tree came within arms’ reach, he snatched hold; it proved unnecessary. His hair still bore the burden of his body, and gently placed him in the natural nest of fronds.
Your hair – can do – anything wrote the fleas.
“What; like make me fly?”
No, ha, ha, ha – physical – things – limited – by – imagination.
Glen gave an uncertain smile.
Try the fleas wrote.
His hunger reminded him of the dates beneath the fronds. He imagined his hair reaching out to get them. Sections of his hair grew at once and slipped down over the sides, picking the fruit. Minutes later, his hair returned shrinking back into his scalp, with dates held in the ends of his hair. To his delight, they formed into a bowl at his behest, holding the fruit in front of him.
He sighed deeply as he stared over the star spattered sky above the dunes. Shifting forward, he sat with his legs dangling over the edge as he took in the view.
“All this and Heaven too,” he said, eating another date.
What do – you mean?
“I’m a Christian, so I already have a place in Heaven. My skin is healed, my hair’s grown back. I’ve got good food, a magnificent view, and I’ve got hair that will do whatever I tell it to do.”
He smiled warmly, looking at the cloud.
“And God also gave me a new friend; I mean, you are a “me” instead of a “we;” aren’t you?”
In a way – we are a – collective – and – we like you – too, Glen.