“What is this Michael?â? God asked.
“Butterfly,â? Michael responded, his voice stony.
“You know that’s not what I speak of, my angel,â? He replied patiently.
Michael refused to answer, taking off from the bosky place God had created and spreading his wings to find Eternity. He pumped the muscles fluidly, soaring on feathers that glowed white as snow. From then on, he would tell God of nothing he found. All creations were made by the power of God, but none could truly be until they had been recognized.
At the edge of Eternity, Michael closed his wings and free fell down the waterfall of mirrors, catching fragments of his robes on the dazzling cascades of time. With startling grace, he spread his downy appendages and caught himself on billows of air. A sharp turn, he dived into the colors and patterns of the River of Time, the waters of eternity.
Past comets, stars, planets and black holes, Michael soared until he reached the place he was so proud of discovering: a living, breathing, Earth.