Garden Blossoms and The Quest

Ron Koppelberger

Garden Blossoms and the Quest

The tangibility of calendars and seasons in branded sunshine and established breaths of life lay like winsome reflections of beautiful bounty across the horizon. An expression of glowing serenity and relinquished wreaths of perfection cast in aged layers of dust gave him substance in way of quest.
The ridge lay in the distance, beyond the yellow-gold of fluttering wheat and veiled care. The traveler prepared and rested in the fresh damp soil, the tilled rows of saffron revelation. He conversed in daydream essence and misty native dialogue with the spirits of spring. Warm, flowing and full of blossoming promise, what invested the echoing accident of divinity, the savannahs of wheat and the fertile garden blossoms. He noted the scent of fresh beginnings and the tales that would tell the horizons of both past and future, berths and births. Spring seasons of dreamy castaway love and peaceable completion.
The ridge the ascending slope, sylvan and complacently willing beckoned new adventure and the possible band of sinless quest. He prayed and an angel sang praises for the garden and the mans quest.
Moving toward the imagined glories and hoped for prophecy the man trifled the path and captivating spring harvest for the welcoming magic of sylvan foothills. A result of entrance and absolutes beneath his bosom, his heart beat in rhythm with the journey and spirits of ascension, springtime ascension.