“Your majesty,” Kalmar ventured after a long silence. “I don’t know what you’re saying. I don’t know what to do,” he ended despairingly.
The Maker turned and looked deep into the wolf’s blue eyes.
Kalmar felt like he had been turned upside down and emptied into a goblet like a pitcher of water. He could hide nothing from The Maker.
He knew The Maker saw deep into his soul and He knew He saw everything he had ever done; good or bad.
“WHAT DO YOU DOUBT, MY CHILD?”
Kalmar scrunched up his furry eyebrows, deep in thought. “I don’t know, My Lord.”
“YOU DOUBT YOURSELF. DON’T YOU?”
“I—I—don’t know,” Kalmar stammered.
The Maker stood up and walked to a pathway through the garden, his white robe swirling around him like fog on a misty morning. Kalmar watched as His robe brushed the bright flemory flowers growing along the path.
The flowers swayed gently as if brushed by the gentlest breeze. Kalmar earnestly wished he had his T.H.A.G.S sketchbook.
It was impossible to catch every detail in life with just a stick of lead and a piece of paper, but Kalmar did the best he could.
The Maker beckoned for Kalmar to join Him and Kalmar bounded up from his seat to do so.
The Maker swept His arm out, gesturing to the far off river and trees growing along the bank. “DO YOU SEE THAT RIVER?”
“Yes, sir.”
“SOMEDAY YOU WILL LIVE THERE. WHEN YOU ARE OLD AND GRAY.”
“I will?” Kalmar asked incredulously.
The Maker nodded. “YOU WILL.”
More tomorrow! (hopefully)
I love that he wanted his sketchbook! It sounds so Kal!
I want to live there!