WOUB Passion Works: A Story of Flying — Get Involved — Activities

The sky was full of moon when Gabriel went to find Sophia. He had stepped from the house with wings on his back and was anxious to try them out. But not alone. His sister was older. She spoke a language all her own (though he could understand), and she was wise and truthful. If anyone knew how to use the wings, Sophia would. He listened carefully and, sure enough, he heard his sister singing by the river. It was a familiar melody, a lullaby, both of them knew. So he pulled his wings around himself (it was a moonlit night, but it was cold) and he followed Sophia's voice.

I'm a little darlin'
my mama tells me so
You're a little darlin'
A dancin' high and low
Sing with me my darlin'
the wind is blowing so
Our papa's plantin' hollyhock
in hopes that it will grow

Sophia's advice for flying was two-fold; gather a handful of rocks, and pretend something. Anything. And he did. The rocks in his hands were sparkling seeds he plucked from beneath his sister's feet and planted inside himself. The moon was a watering can pouring its light on both their heads. “Look Gabriel. We're flying. There's our house” and below them their parents slept like fish in a shimmering sea.



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“A Story of Flying” Written by Deni Naffziger The sky was full of moon when Gabriel went to find Sophia. He had stepped from the house with wings on his back and was anxious to try them out. But not alone. His sister was older. She spoke a language all her own (though he could understand), and she was wise and truthful. If anyone knew how to use the wings, Sophia would. He listened carefully and, sure enough, he heard his sister singing by the river. It was a familiar melody, a lullaby, both of them knew. So he pulled his wings around himself (it was a moonlit night, but it was cold) and he followed Sophia's voice. I'm a little darlin' my mama tells me so You're a little darlin' A dancin' high and low Sing with me my darlin' the wind is blowing so Our papa's plantin' hollyhock in hopes that it will grow Sophia's advice for flying was two-fold; gather a handful of rocks, and pretend something. Anything. And he did. The rocks in his hands were sparkling seeds he plucked from beneath his sister's feet and planted inside himself. The moon was a watering can pouring its light on both their heads. “Look Gabriel. We're flying. There's our house” and below them their parents slept like fish in a shimmering sea.