In Which He Wakes Up Filled With Determination

http://manimatron.blogspot.com/
Saturday, September 04

A bridge… a long bridge, the kind that seems like it goes on forever. Built on hewn stone, its blocks carved with intricate designs and slick with moisture from the rolling thin mists, the stones now cracked by time and the weather. Jesus pulls a rope and ties it to one of the bridge’s fixtures and throws it over its edge. Secures his pack and climbs down the already slick rope. It took him the better part of an hour to reach the bottom, the river below having run dry long before. But he still visited this bridge as he did when the river raged strong and one could see it from up there.

After a while he reached the bottom, the riverbed a thing of dirt and sand and walked further down the length of the dried streambed, passing a score or more of the thick columns that held the bridge over head until he reached his destination. A small pond still teeming with life which seemed to get smaller each time he visited.

He’d walk up to the edge, crouch and put his hand in the cool waters which agitated the instant he did so with fish and other creatures that rushed to that spot. He’d spend hours there and head back. A thing he had done since he can remember.

This time he showed up to the bridge early as always but there was someone there… a silhouette in the fog of someone staring over the bridge. He got close, his feet crunching over the gravel. She heard him, turned to him and smiled. He smiled back and secured the rope like other times before. She edged close to the side if the bridge and peered into the foggy depths below. He climbed and sat on the edge of the bridge ready to climb down as many times before, she climbed and sat beside him, understanding she meant to follow he secured a line between the two of them and started down the rope.

They securely reached the sandy bottom and walked in silence until they reached the pond. She crouched beside him and reached into the pond, its whole surface came alive at her touch. They remained there for some hours before heading back in silence, the mists parting as they walked past.

On their way back she edged closer to him and wrapped her arm around his and locked her hand to his, her hand warm against his skin. They kept on walking hand in hand; the sun broke through the fog as it parted, and unseen to them a thin line of crystalline water trickled and made its way thro ugh the gravel and sand and fed into the pond...

۞ • ۞ • ۞

His eyes suddenly opened as he lay on his side in the murk of his room. Jesus caught his bearings and looked at the time on his phone… it was morning. the sensation of her hand interlocked in his still alive in the palm of his hand, her touch still alive on the length of his arm.

“A dream…” He muttered under his breath, “…it had all been a dream”.  But unlike other times where such a realization would depress him he felt the fires of determination burn stronger... he smiled. He knew what he had to do. He rubbed his eyes and sent her a text message with a song title that made allusion to how the dream had ended.

He knew what he had to do...