In the books of his day, we find no reference to his place in the world: he dwelt reclusively in his innocent orbit of dreams. It happens he was expelled in genesis from the earth, fully formed and perceptive, covered in apple blossoms. A family adopted him, inscribed proverbs on his bones – and from a large stone, while they went back and forth to the fields of the city, he waited.
He waited, aware of his seat on the council of creation. His determination lay in the physical body where knowledge lives. He didn’t whittle his days with a dull knife, but found his breath inside the sky. He learned of other worlds beyond the coffin walls.
She came from the north where the clouds often rumble. She was an outcast among dreamers; she lived in a world of blocks and beams to keep her anchored to the soil. In summer, they met on the garden steps where poets and musicians gather. Her reason for coming to this place was like a shrouded statue.
Fingers began to strum, singers to exhale lyrics that spread like sweet smoke toward the crowd. He asked her to waltz among the cobbles. She was like a child who fears scrutiny, but she consented and they counted clicks and claps among the hard shoes and laughter. Later they wiped red sauce from their plates with bread, and sipped coffee. He asked her if she knew that the seeds of the world had already been planted and were growing inside her like a beloved child.
Her affirmative reply astonished him although he was convinced that to let his heart guide him was a cause for gladness. Possibly he still thought happiness was a phantom, an ephemeral embrace.
He was both right and wrong. A body does feed flowers that paint the eyes of the next generation. But he welcomed contentment in the precise moment that the sun stood still. It was into this narrow place they entered, and from this quiet place they flourished.
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Thank you for reading Dynamic Creed. I found this piece stashed in my hard drive. It’s from several years ago. I hope you enjoyed it. I have a lot of new stories coming, but I wanted to share this older one with you.
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Thanks again, and all the best,
Victor David
You are a unique and gifted writer, Victor. This one may become my new favorite, the prose is so elegant and enigmatic. Of course "The Life and Death of Ernest Hemingway" and "Goodbye Rudy for Ships," will always be in the top five. I can't wait to see what's next.
What a quiet, introspective, and beautiful story. Your work is thought provoking, and genuinely creative. I love the last paragraph - flourishing in a quiet place remains my life's ambition. Someday...