Author: Sean M. Cox

     Meager hills dotted a bleak landscape, so that if it weren’t for the rain a traveler might have been capable of seeing off to the edge of the world and perhaps beyond to infinity.
     The unrelenting rain had poured down for as long as Michael could remember. For him the feeling of it was strange. He felt sometimes as if he were dry, not having really a clear memory of dryness. The rain, however, he could see, and the pounding he could feel as he trudged along on a lonely muddy road. It was a madness; a delusion that went along with the endless wetness. Michael was not deluded. He knew he was not dry though he sought for drier roads.
     The roads here weren’t beaten paths tread out by the wear of many passing feet. In this constantly rainy climate, any high ground was preferable for walking. The roads were the watersheds, which, while muddy, were not so poor for walking as what ground lay to either side of them.
     The water, however didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Certainly the water seemed to be running someplace and there were pools of it all over the landscape, but aside from constant rippling and splashing from endless rain, the pools were static and unchanging. Always the rain fought to keep up. It could not flood, though it seemed inevitable.
     Michael had been walking the watersheds for the greater part of his journey, the beginning of which, endless rain and clouds caused him to forget. Had he ever dwelt under constant sun and warmth?
     He searched for such shelter and warmth now. Looking ever off in the distance Michael could spy very few landmarks; mountain tops that rose like pillars; only three had seemed likely shelter.
     Off to the east he could see one. Originally not even noticed, Michael had seen it after a long while sloshing in the mud. He had called it the “New Hope” and it had seemed very near and a likely shelter, but the hill proved itself to be too small to ward off storm clouds and off in the distance it seemed that these clouds thickened and were drawn closer to it. Electrical activity flashed and thundered from the distance discomfiting the lonely traveler. It had seemed so beautiful standing against such agony; the flashing brilliance so attractive in its novelty, but as the traveler trudged on the raucous thunderings accused him and pierced his weakened frame. The hill now seemed a sad Golgatha or a Mount Olivet with another suffering Christ. It seemed to enjoy its thunderings and lamentations, its accusings and howlings. It laughed and flashed to hide and mask the horrible pounding booms. It lost all attractiveness for Michael and he pressed on in another direction. He could see now that the face of the hill was unsteady and unsure; as the lightning flashed and cast its light here and there New Hope seemed to change shape. Michael now called it “Fickle Friend”. Always it stood in the distance as an important landmark, but there was no way to say which way it faced, so that it served nothing by itself as a compass or guide.
     Two hills now seemed to hold promise, one to the north, and the other to the northeast. These both stood tall and distant. The way seemed unsure, boasting of uneven ground and rocky outcroppings, but soon after finding New Hope to be unsheltering, it became apparent that the northeast stood bold against the clouds; they piled up against it, and while the path seemed difficult to tread, it was clear that the sun reigned free on the other side casting its light upon growing heather and brightly varied wildflowers.
     Greatly did Michael desire to see the sunny side of this most beautiful and inspiring presence, but he found that the faster he ran towards it the more it seemed to shrink away into the distance. Michael looked upon it as a Zion and referred to it in sullen yet hopeful thought by that name. He did not know what home felt like; could not remember, but this Mount Zion struck him as being what home should be. However, the cold stormy side of Mount Zion was disheartening. Michael had not energy for endless running and the shrinking affect which seemed so maddening. Surely it could not be so.
     Presently Michael traveled north northeast growing closer to both promising landmarks, walking along a watershed which seemed to be conveniently suited for leading him. Perhaps he might let the watershed guide him, not knowing if the more proximate northern hill might provide adequate shelter.
     The storm did not seem to gather so strongly in the north and the mountain there seemed inviting and perhaps even warm compared to the cold of Mount Zion. Still one could not tell conditions on the other side.
     Truly, there were other towers; other mountains which might have served Michael well and he was conscious of their presence, but they were far distant. Michael thought of it little. He did naught but recognize their existence.
     It seemed a wise course to wait and see and possibly try first the more neighboring northern mountain if the way did not become clear to the northeast. Yes, it seemed like wisdom. However, Michael did not feel the wisdom quite so strongly. His heart looked to the northeast ever with longing to see the sun which he knew to be there. Mount Zion was in his heart and seemed ever likely to stay rooted there.
     Thus Michael trudged on hopelessly. He played games with himself to ease his mind and to distract it from searching through the rough for a way; for an inroad that might lead him northeast.
     Michael tried to comfort himself with the companionship of the little mounds that he passed or noted at some small distance on this road. He grew to like some of them in their many shapes and sizes. Some seemed gay and faire, as much so as a mound of mud might be. Some seemed to him unhappy and certainly some were more solid than others letting less of this pouring rain penetrate. To him they had personality and truly sometimes Michael fancied himself to be of the same constitution, a mound, a hill, or even perhaps a mountain of clay. Introspection was so difficult and he wondered how the mountains and the hills saw themselves.
     Looking at Mount Zion and paying close attention, Michael had gotten the feeling that Mount Zion saw in itself an unattractive mound. It made him sad to think of her sadness and loneliness. Mount Zion ran from him as he approached because she feared to fail him in his quest for shelter and be rejected scornfully as one who has felt scorned oft. Michael pondered these things and noted how Mount Zion’s uneasiness had created the rough landscape which acted as a barrier.
     The personality in the little hills and mounds was something Michael had become aware of long ago in his journey, though originally he had ignored them not seeing any use for their individual complexities. He only began to really pay attention around the time he noticed Mount Zion. Before then he had wanted to seek a way out of the waste, but was fearful and hopeless to dedicate himself to a direction and move forward. Once he began to notice the mounds and the hills for what they were he began to enjoy their presence, not as barriers to his progress, but markers, beautiful in their variety, being the most variant forms on the landscape.
     So Michael played games with the geography of the hills, and though, in his current state of pain, he no longer felt the joy he once did in his muddy companions, he felt good to not be alone in the mud.
     It was good for him when these things could distract him and hold his attention. Still, sometimes he would look out at the hills and see them smiling back at him, yet feel little comfort. He would frown and turn in his heart towards Mount Zion and feel utterly hopeless. Then he would almost cry. The smiling hills were enough to stay the tears, but when he pondered alone silently, oft the tears would come. He only knew them because of their warmth. When first they had started he had been glad because it had felt good to cry; A bit of rain from his soul. It warmed him, which he felt was interesting enough. The sky cried often enough and he never knew it to be warm. Michael reasoned that it must be a matter of excess, and so he thought it oft good to continue forgetting his troubles and waiting patiently; walking patiently.
     Michael walked patiently now; a lone figure in the rain, aching and sore. It was once again that time of day where he found need to rest. He stopped and knelt down on his watershed. then he curled up and waited for sleep. The rain would haunt his sleep and dreams all night, but he would rest in spite of it; thinking of tomorrow and a journey to the sunny side of Mount Zion.

     (Continues on The Dragon.)