by Murray Dunlap
The old man sat cross-legged with cupped hands. From a distance, he appeared to be rubbing his hands together for warmth. At a closer range, it was clear that he held something. Perhaps a firefly. The firefly would blink its light, and the old man would put his mouth to his hands and blow. The light grew with the old man’s breath. And then he did the most spectacular thing. He opened his hands and the light stayed put. This was not a firefly. The orb remained constant. Tiny specs seemed to circle the orb in extremely particular ways. The old man appeared pleased. He spoke aloud to the air around him, “Keep them warm, my little orb, and we will name you Sun. I will send my own son when you are constant enough to keep him safely warm.”
And so, our universe was born.
Murray Dunlap is a writer living in North Carolina, who is married to an Episcopal priest.
image: Creation by Marc Chagall