One night, Father Clery was telling Peter a story about a boy who could fly.
“How high could he fly, Father Clery?” said Peter.
“He could fly as high as the clouds.”
“Did he have wings and if he did did he have to worry about the sun melting them?”
“No. He flew without wings,” Father Clery smiled.
“Did he fly on top of a cloud?”
“No, He flew without a cloud.”
“How did he fly?”
“He flew because he could. Now, Peter, it’s time to go to bed. It’s late. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.”
“Oh, Father Clery, just read a bit more.”
“I’m afraid not, Peter. It’s time for bed,” Father said as he closed the book he was reading. Peter could not sleep now he
wanted to hear the rest of the story but he knew Father Clery would not budge an inch. He laid back down and covered himself with the covers. Father Clery turned off the lights, said goodnight to Peter and closed the door behind him. In the darkness, as the moon shone through the round window, Peter couldn’t help feeling that there was something magical
about it. That maybe if he could wish he could fly he would be able to, like the boy in the book.
“I wonder if I closed my eyes and wished really hard if I would be able to fly,” said Peter to his shadow who was
staring up at the moon like Peter. “Do you think we could ever fly? I would fly to the moon.”
His shadow could only shrug unknowing if that was plausible. “I sure would like to fly.” his shadow sighed. Who would have thought that his shadow could talk but he did. Peter became aware of his shadow when he was six years old. He was now seven, but who can say who was aware of who, but there he was and there was Peter saying hello for the first time.
“How long have you been following me?” Peter asked his shadow.
“I have been here all along. How long have you been following me?” the shadow responded.
“I don’t know,” Peter thought. “I go over here and there. Where do you go?”
“I go here and there, too,” the shadow said.
Peter began to walk away. “I have to go now.”
“All right. I guess I will go with you, too.”
That was the first time they became aware of each other, but then Peter asked his shadow what his name was. Shadow thought for a minute. What could it be, thought the shadow, what is his name?
“I don’t think I have a name?” shadow said.
“We better get you a name,” Peter said, so they thought for a few minutes more. “How about, Robert?” suggested Peter.
“I don’t know. I don’t think I feel like a Robert,” said shadow.
“How about Dante?” suggested Peter again. “Father Clery says a name should always mean soemething to you.”
“Hmm, I don’t know?” shadow was not so certain about Dante.
“How about, Daegal?”
Shadow wasn’t sure about that one either.
Shadow just shook his head no.
“Kek, Sully, Fie, Gethin, Keir?”
Nevertheless, shadow did not like any one of them.
Peter thought a bit more and recalls a story Father Clery had told him about an adventurer and explorer that sailed the sky’s on a flying ship. “How about MacFie?”
Shadow instantly liked the name.
to be continued…