‘Come look at this,’ Gabriel called to God.
Sophia had just reached up to push a branch aside, and was leaning far, far into the tree to get a better look into the garden. She was filled with energy and frustration: it was time, and she wanted to get this done.
They watched as the branch snapped and Sophia crashed to the ground.
“Silence is not her forte, is it?” Gabriel laughed.
“Oh, she likes it well enough — so long as it’s hers to break.”
As Sophia got up and dusted herself off, she saw them there, watching her.
She sent the most scathing of looks.
Sophia was not used to feeling helpless, and she didn’t like it at all.
God drew alongside her — apart and as one.
“How long have you been watching her?”
“Since the light fell on the dew. One moment she’s laughing and dancing. Next, she’s as still as a bird.”
As they spoke, Mary was tracing the veins of a leaf, thinking of all that she and Joseph had planned.
“That’s what I told the angels to watch for: humour and wonder — to help cope with you.”
Sophia scowled, but she accepted the truth of it. Wonder was her preferred dwelling; but humour would get them through.
“There are things I will have to learn,” she said.
“Yes — and I will learn too.”
The thought of it left her speechless — of all they were going to do.
God laughed at her sudden silence. She paused and then followed his thought.
“Gabriel, how long did you say it will it take her — before she can teach me to talk?”
Gabriel loved to tease her: the Incarnate, word-less Word.
God stepped forward, and drew her into glory.
They stood as they had in the beginning, drawing breath to make the world new.
“Ready now?” God asked her.
She nodded, and curled into creation.
“Gabriel — you know what to do.”