Bedraggled

Ron Koppelberger

Bedraggled

The ornament of a mixed blessing both freed him and proposed distinctions of dogged gloom. He took all things together and in a backward glance. Folly, passion and gullibility made him at home in the river of human existence. Subjugated by the demons of everyday life he had hired the four winds and chance. A homeless homage to the nomadic absolutes of vigor and shadow filled him and he pushed forward to the next moment.
He lay in the midst of a wavering field of saffron gold; his stomach grumbled and the heavens replied in the distant horizon with a touch of thunder. He was put together at one with god and the angels, a hodgepodge of unchained chance and quivering expectation.
Fireflies danced in the cool midnight air and a gentle white glow shone on the horizon to the west. It was an umbrage in perfect calm and sainted innocence. He smelled the odor of damp soil and green fresh burnish, a field of saffron and wheat ambition and whimsy. He was Tattered, tired, thrashed by the journey yet enlivened by freedom and homeless abandon. The dream directed him as it had many others before him. The city without sin, he would find it in the spoils of freedom. The clearing was a mile in the distance and the speed of sound seemed faster as the circle of bloodthirsty celebrants sold wicked satisfactions to the scattering of stones in the distance, the place bordered by saffron and wheat. He saw them clearly, they would surely kill him if they were to see him in the deep shadows, nevertheless he watched them as they sang and chanted incantations of dark desire.
Provisions of nourishment kept him safe and hidden, bound discipleship in gods vista, it was a place to sleep and dream. Tomorrow he would navigate the furrowed rows of saffron, careful to avoid the clearing of stones and blood sacrifice. For now he was free and his will to follow course, the tide of fate, would see him through.