The Seedling

Ron Koppelberger

The Seedling

Lauded as a miracle prodigy the little boy sang and played with his stuffed tigers, bears and dogs. Laughing gleefully he growled and barked in visions of candy drops and grass stained palms with an imagined ferocity. The betrayer watched him in speculative design. “He will be my proof, my accolade of vindication.” He whispered aloud in ash and fire.
Grassland savannahs of wheat flame and rugged safari expeditions filled the boys imagination as he trusted worshiping natives and just a whisper of magic. He danced on the air floating as if suspended by an unseen harness as he imagined the great expanse of the village. The holy enclave, he saw sheep there and wolves as Sheppard’s, in the great city he saw dreamy candy cane treats and cinnamon sprinkles. The betrayer sighed and pondered the floating child in hungry anticipation. The boy jumped to the moist soil of the yard and yelled “YYYYYYEEEEEEHHHHAAAAWWWWWW!” The gypsy saw the boy and the betrayer in the crystal goblet of wine. Revealed, a miracle, a prophet perhaps. The boy had to be protected from the betrayer and so she sent the spirit of hope and resurrection from the cloistered cathedral of taboo. The accuser, the betrayer subordinate to the prayers of a child turned toward the enclave, the cathedral in secret. Revealed only for a moment yet long enough for his eyes to see the beholden church.
The boy laughed and the betrayer resolved to unsign the seal of the church. A butterfly with the likeness of Christ and it’s wings fluttered near the boy and the spirit of resurrection filled him. The gypsy priest prepared for battle as the crystal goblet relinquished the wine.