M (also known as Dt. T, praise be unto him), has a vision. It is a beautiful Sunday evening, as M seeks a shelter and food. As his stomach leads him to wondrous places, his eyes catch sight of an unassuming figure leaning against a lonely tree. A couple of young ones play around him with the golden light of a fading day diffusing in their locks. They play in the shade of his presence, never looking towards him, but always knowing they are safe.
M does not recognize the figure, but is drawn to the sight with an instinctive tingle. The cloth might be poor, but the wearer is not. M looks into his eyes.
M knows.
The world is quiet for a moment.
M knows.
M nods.
It is him. It is him.
It is the Lord of the Fruit.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
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