Unblushing Winter Fluke

Ron Koppelberger

Unblushing winter Fluke

The speculative advance of pearly crystals in cool clouds of creation, an august snow in vestured savannahs of wheat an august snow in sunshine skies and surrendered summer heat. Apia Torch stood in the tumble-down enclave sweating and damp from the melting snowflakes. He watched as the flakes fell and melted against his skin and the grain of saffron-yellow vistas.
Melting away, nourishing the soil with winter applause and sated cascading thirsts of tangled season. Apia stood beneath the shower of snowflakes dazzled by the miracle of proffered pilgrim rarity. He yanked on his ponytail, straightening the colored ribbons that held it in place, “ Divine design, delivered at length and entreating accident.” he contemplated out loud. The majesty of saffron brilliance lay in fantasies of moist swaying repose and Apia said a prayer for those who traveled the path. The path through the fields and fertile pastures of gold. He obliged the wheat and the hand of god sheltered him. The distance between the rain catcher and Apia was a short walk. He would drink, drink in cool wellsprings from heaven and he would dream, dream of his sweet princess the wind and her sweet fragrance. Apia stared at the mound of earth near his rain barrel. She would return to him someday, she had told him of a miracle, the angel in human guise. She would breath again and august snows would be hers as well.
Apia sat near the mound and waited, near the rolling waves of grain and near the beginning of a new age. There he waited patiently.