The Seven Days of Wander

blink through brighter day.

  Yet for the few scraps and more kicks flung to this beast, it was the most of faithful. Clung to its master's heels like dust to a mule's. It seemed to have no duty, no destiny but the following of a merchant’s will, the ever faithful stance at his footing.

  At times it finds there is more of a man in a dog than in a man. For the dog gave homage not for bread, nor gain but it seems very natural would allow no less a path.

  And being only dog, it had no questions but rather did its destiny with a peaceful satisfaction. Agony was only a thing outside a vision of citadel watch; despair was a dog's eyes without the hook nosed moon face of its master.

  What would be only for the master the use of this beast was soon to be seen. For it was too small, too ill fed to ravish much the leg of any robber; certainly, beauty was not its catch, nor value of its sire.

  Yet for the merchant, this dog had tremendous use and in it he placed an unheard of trust. More so then any king his most closes council or any captain his most valiant sword. For what in this world has a greater love than merchant for his gold?

  For by luck as the cart covered the doorway and our merchant squatted down with his dog, blind to any interference or suspect, I was knocked; sprawled in the dirt by some ignoramus. My head tilted in the cart's direction, I beheld below the ragged short skirt hung on the wheeled stall, a wondrous tale!

  The merchant, gold coin in hand, had shoved his earnings up the dog's ass! Extracting his digit, he wiped it on the dog, then quickly stood up. Glances swept the area but did not scent of a one legged eye sprawled nearby.

  The procession set off. The merchant, lighter in step, more casual in eye, for the burn of his wealth was placed in a cooler well than his sweaty palm. The dog and his own stride had found no change; it remained as sure and quick to follow though it now bore the means for independent life should it so wish!

  Now, Brother, I have puzzled not that a dog is loyal with or without wealth. Or that a man so lusts for something, then is so urgent to hide it. That in that, endeavour and profit; sine and shame; crime and fugitive seem all much the same.

  I will admit, Brother, that the finding does compel me to examine the glint of any dog droppings along certain streets. As of date no findings, the rainbow remains endless, yet even for that, I have not wondered as to the turmoil of a man who must toil the remainder of a day, one eye to any comings and goings of a bread thief and one eye to any comings and passings of a dog's bowel. If ever a man were torn between two mules, this is the webs of greed!

  But my real head shakes at this, Brother: Why would a man abhor to touch another man's spittle, nay, even that man's skiing yet have no qualm in the daily probe of a dog's bunghole?

  Is it in the bend of cheap copper versus the ever true of a king's metal; that value pays the senses to hold their revolt? Or is that a four limbed cur stands more sacred than a one limbed man? That the wealth found in one gives more worth in the probe than any value that may be plumbed from the other?”

  Beggar: “Ah, little brother, you have no fear of being unsound by the use of your tongue, for it has been said in a far place that: "It is by tongue that one tells of the man, for no other limb is as close to the heart and soul of a man."

  Boy: (laughing) “Yes an old healer, I won't say fake, once said a thing like that. The crowd disbelieving his claims of miracles encouraged him with jeers to where I lay.

  He indeed looked deep upon my eye, then turned to the mob to exclaim "The gods allow heal the half man, even the quarter man. From hence my good magic. To bring men to wholeness. But this boy is already whole, nay, is four times the man on a lone leg than we are on two, bending our arms in worships. The gods see no need of plaster upon this statue of true manhood. His, the song of a rare one legged crane sung regal above the marsh frogs, their eyes tranced to the stalls.

  It is no fault of the gods that your ears are too crippled to hear him!

  Now, brother, I loved the old man's coin given and cursed him not for this truth, though the people howled him away with stones and laugher.

  But times the wonder has crept in, that, if the gods will a man greater inside by per portion of a decay outside, then why am I not king and all the beggars my fellow courtiers? One day I had perhaps unsolved this riddle too long upon my tanned brow, for an old ragged hag, her hair bleached in years, dropped a copped in my cup and said 'young man, misery is not always found in an empty bowl' and then I groped the mean of it all! That up glancing down sees emptiness but down glancing up sees a world rimmed for the view! That not all gods live in airy flight and call their men to rise upward; such a forbidden task with the lead press of living soles. No, some gods; gods of the wheat, the bursting fertile earth, the trees thickened of rain, rivers, seas swelled in purpose, the hearth fires smoking at brotherhood, these gods looked upon purpose, the universe much different than the preach of a misguided man. The best world for them sloped to all a new cant, that upgrade was downgrade. That the highest temple was the deepest pit. That what was hailed kingly to men was called lowly to these gods. That a man unlimbed, bellied in his journey, gave closes embrace to these gods which had indeed moulded the living, rather than just observed from distance wings.

  I said this unto a brother weeks of few ago and he exclaimed "But my little friend, you elevate the snake above the scorpion; the scorpion above the rat. All the loathsome which prey upon each other's flesh are now more regal than any flight in the cleaning sun. Why it seems to me that..." Just then a sparrow gave whistle as it graced in an arc over our heads , its song seemed a liberation of his thought. Then its shadow flicked, the talons of the hawk clutched a sparrow's breast and throat. The song lost in the blood and appetites of a tearing beak. The brother looked upon me and remained wordless. Humbled by this greater truth, I could only reply "Brother, the greater crime in thinking is to look upon life without the frame of death. Yet the greatest crime is to dwell upon life only under the shadow of death. That is to say ‘What is to be done must best be done today. For today may set its last for some but neither is it good to waver today on the hope that tomorrow will never come."

  “Ah my brother, tall in my shadow, withhold the dew I see well in your eyes' continued the boy to the Beggar. 'Joy should be our exchange not melancholies. Those concerts we sing only for men deafened with coinish rattles. Away with you, sir; to your voyage treasured mysterious in only your eyes. I love our scandal yet I must ply my bread. Your stance denies the plea of my cup to any passerby for one cries no pity amongst friendship.

  But if your meander within yourself allows, pray, return to our idle's worships of life. Words are precious when of polished thought and a true crumb swells more fruitful than any basket of false miracles ground from a soul's terror; the grains of a beginner's hope.

  Yet look not for a burdened lad such as this, for I shall be of then liberated from this tottering on one sole!

  Beggar: (almost as a whisper) And how is that to pass, Little wings of my brother?

  Boy: Ah, the disease of a man is not a disease of his centre. For thrice it has sought my soul, thrice defeated though the battlefield scarred and gnawed to half.But as the old man witch gave predict a large heart needs a worthy adversary; so this green viper swallows again. The fourth limb to be the altar of a godly conflict; angel vs. demon and where is the judgement to scorn who is who?

  Yea but if I win and succeed as I must (for who gives alms to dust), then freedom rallies this withered lean. For then I shall be king as I must ride in litter through the streets as majestic as any procession. Borne by a sturdy man, paid to wear the hooves of a cripple's ass, I shall greet any folks with a smile for a gawk. My head ,now nobly borne, no longer the peer for trip or crack but eyes given now to original purpose: the measure of another's. Aw, sing miraculous, warbles the little boys amass in my follow: 'behold what was a short stone's throw of yesterday's now flies above ever our crowns! Ah, brother, you know I mock but truly is it such a care to be finally carried
after such a long time of stumble?

  But truly now, can you not see the balance gods give so naturally to pay the value of this new uplift of stance? Come now, brother, guess, what is it?

  The boy remained waiting, a tremendous grin on his face.

  Beggar: Ah, perhaps: Look under a man's feet for the name of his mountain; if you see no feet call his mountain: cloud.

  Boy: Nicely put, brother, but rather a sad cast. No. The balance is: I must now spend coinage on a carrier but the coin is not missed at the bread stall for there is now less of me to feed!

  At this, the boy gave off such a good heart of laughter, that the Beggar was seduced to join. Hands to shoulders were shook, goodbyes and returns promised, all amongst this hilarity and roar, so contagious a dog barked close by and two merchants glanced up.

  The Beggar left the boy, both still snorting and ribs all a delightful a pain. Still smiling at the first corner, he turned, waved an open palm in answer to the raise of a crutch.

  Then his eyes rolled to a new path, the first stepped into shadows driven beyond a crippled boy's vision. The Beggar tore the grin from his face as he stumbled along and wept in the creeping distance of twelve streets.

  This brought the Beggar's young son upon the wall's edge at