Free Elephant Talks to God by Dale Estey Page B

travelled.
    And the elephant felt himself as familiar here as he was at home.
    And the elephant giggled as the starlight tickled his trunk and cast its incandescent path along his tusks.
    And the elephant saw one star and nineteen stars and forty-four stars and as many stars with as many zeros as any elephant who talks to any god can possibly see. And he saw them all separately and knew them all separately and yet understood it was all the same starlight which so filled his eyes with sparkle and colour and joy that he finally — finally — had to blink.
    â€œThank you,” said the elephant.
    â€œNo,” said the stars. “Thank you.”

Explain Fish to Me
    The elephant was on his side in the river, where he had flopped without much ceremony beside the boulder.
    He raised his left front and his left hind leg into the air and his trunk trailed in the current like an eel. He sloshed water over the exposed parts of his body with an erratic fortissimo.
    â€œSo.” The elephant gulped water. “Explain fish to me.”
    â€œI beg your pardon,” the boulder sputtered, for it had been caught in the back spray.
    â€œFish,” said the elephant. “Marine animals; sub-aquatic creatures; denizens of the deep: puffers, scuppers, suckers, guppies, herring, flounder, anchovies —”
    â€œAn elephant,” interrupted God, “has many attributes. But very low on this mammoth list is the ability to be cute.” The boulder paused significantly. “So get to the point.”
    â€œWhen you’re ponderous, it’s known as being profound,” pointed out the elephant.
    â€œI’m the Creator, so I get to make the rules,” pointed out God. “So. What is it with the fish?”
    â€œWell, they’re so weird. They look strange, they’re poor conversationalists, they breath in water, and they choke on air.” The elephant finally scrambled to his feet. “And they never stay still. It’s always ‘moving with the current’ or ‘moving against the current.’ I mean no disrespect, and we’re all God’s creatures, but they’re real losers.”
    â€œI wonder,” asked the boulder, after a moment’s thought, “if you’ve heard about the group of blind men asked to describe an elephant.”
    â€œNo,” said the elephant. “I haven’t.”
    â€œEach man touched a different part.”
    As God began, he raised his voice for the benefit of the fish, who were ranged in concentric circles around the oblivious elephant. They were going to enjoy this.

Why is There Life?
    The elephant was tugging down branches and stuffing leaves into his mouth.
    It was a clear morning, yet the air promised not to get too hot during the day. He munched contentedly and thoughtfully looked around him to choose the trees he would try later. He felt that variety always enhanced his dining.
    The other elephants were spaced among the trees, and although ever wary of the active jungle, they were more or less minding their own business as they ate.
    The general chatter of the smaller animals came through the undergrowth while the antics of the frolicking monkeys filtered down from the upper branches. They were glad that the food was abundant, and they were thankful just to be left alone.
    It was, therefore, with some consternation that they were shaken out of their reverie by agitated noises within their midst. Snorts and grumbling and then the abrupt snap of a branch made them flinch and look cautiously around.
    They all, in almost one motion, turned in one direction. And none of them were surprised to see who was at the centre of the commotion.
    The elephant stood with his trunk wrapped around a whole branch, which he had just ripped from the tree. He was holding it in front of his eyes and peering intently at the leaves.
    He had been eating leaves as long as he could remember, yet the only thing he was certain about