Believers in Savannahs of Grass

Ron Koppelberger

Believers in Savannahs of Grass

The landscape was an eternal vision of hungry grass, all encompassing in it’s wide vista; The cry of a dozen dreamers and believers in emerald waves of fervor blessed the virgin skies and the bond of grass, unique in fray and fringed horizons, in the singsong grasp of affection and tender embrace, “ Ahhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmmm, Ahhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaa.” they sang in confederate breaths of exaltation, of invocation to the greater gods of existence.
The twilight bled bright orange and red, indigo edges and the gentle sweep of shadow. Warm suspirations and eager inhalations, they would come one of the believers thought. A great gulping ascension in blazon skies of passion, they would come. The dusk intruded in evening tide waves of darkness and the rolling winds caressed the believers in the grass, gentle, sweet and full of blissful weave. The sensation of what might happen and the promise overwhelmed them; the would come in great swirling eddies of light and rainbow wills of love, they would come and the believers would become the survivors, the predecessors of man in the aftermath. Ancestors in Mop-Gear and electric assurance , each in his own, the forefathers of the crow, the ravens tongue and sparrow in feathered predictions of civilization and the cares of mankind. They would come and the new love, the new way in paths of holy sustenance, in quests of Eden would flourish in the aftermath of nuclear dissension, in the aftermath of annulled existence; the believers would hold Excalibur the sword of fate and the salvation of innocence.
The embryo in wombs of contrition and rebirth, the rebirth of man and woman, and child and infant. They would come for the sake of god and eternity, forgiveness and forever. The believers waited in the vast savannahs of grass, and they believed in the wish, the need and inborn want for the future in the Midwest and the southern horizon. They waited and the grass spoke in hints of tomorrow, in rolling decrees of sleepy reunion with the cares of a lost civilization. They waited and dreamed of forever, the deep stand of eternal deliverance in the stars, from the skies in dark waves and amber glowing salvation, they waited open armed for the creation of a new day. In end they did come, for the seed of a dream, for the allowance of man and quests that assure the realm of sinless hope. The angels of third heaven, distant and embracing the divinity of the dreamers faith, embracing all that stands between the darkness and moted tempests of light. They came and the drama became a cacophony of happenstance and joy, joy for the gift given, the choice made by a few, the endless dialogue between heaven and earth.