Knocking Down The Dull

Ron Koppelberger

Knocking Down the Dull

Dullness, utter histrionics of commonplace pass, meandering the dull; he drove the tractor and planted the harvest seed, “An my boss turned south, the wind was in his eye, looks like rain he told me.” Clank Mill exclaimed.
Clank sat next to Reck Harpercin in the big harvester. Jaw boned, dull and sleepy Heck thought. “When it finally started raining the crows screeched and flew against the wind Reck.” He said in fervent measure.
“Ahhhaaaaa Yaaaahhhhaaaa.” Reck responded. “Crows huh?”
“Yep,” Clank replied. “It were the darndest thing Reck, dry bones and rain.” Reck breathed in a long sigh, “What’s that Clank?” he said pointing forward. Clank stared ahead at the huge wooden cross near the end of the west field.
“Looks like a scarecrow Reck!” they drew closer by slow seed and thrashing compliance with the season. Clank rubbed his forehead and massaged his wrist, it was itchy from the vibration of the steering wheel. “That ain’t no scarecrow Reck!” Clank exclaimed in shock.
The cross stood ten feet tall and wide by the open arms of the man hanging there. The Sky bleeding twilight tears and candent spears of brilliance, hung in a ghostly taboo of declaration, dire expression as it touched the corn silk locks and crimson stained cheeks of the man hanging there. Shaking, Reck prayed and wondered in confusion, “…how what?”
There was a sign attached to the base of the cross, it read:

“Dull in the boast of men,

Tempered by the dreams of a child,

Here be the work of a monster!”

Reck and Clank took the cross down and the deeper desires of a sparrow in flight found the passion in two old men, giving birth to vagabond mists and the silent tongues of farmers who knew and watched for the flames of a distant wrath.