Knowing Me, Knowing You
I watched him.
Rather queer really, how his eyes held the same question as my nestlings when they dared to look over the edge of their eyrie.
Here was a grown man suddenly struck by the mystery of being: “I see the eagle. The eagle sees me. We see each other. Why?”
This man meant nothing to me yet I pitied him as he drifted past on his piece of wood.
I raised my pinions, taking flight on the warm current of wind. There was only one mystery that mattered: how to know the One who freely gave us life.
Genre: Realism; Word count: 100 Come along and join in with Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Rochelle asks that we use the photo prompt and limit our words to 100 or less. Click on the frog to read more stories.