My Idea… the Saint of Wisdom

My Idea… the Saint of Wisdom

I awoke in the late morning hour.  It was nearing 4 AM; Ma and the children were sleeping.  I went for a stroll.  On I walked, the moonlight pale, I was sure to find some stress-free form of fatigue sometime soon.  It was then that I saw a path from the road.  It was an old lot; the lot led to land owned by neighbors.  “Interesting path,” I thought to myself.  I was sure to find something or someone.

I made my way down the dark pathway in the night and found a clearing.  It was a nice clearing – open wide enough for moonlight, yet still small enough to be rather hidden.  I took a deep breath and looked to the sky.  A spirit of the winds descended – it looked like a cloud of smoke forming above me.

“What have you?” it asked.  I happened to have a small painting in my pocket of a horizon.  It was cooked in a kiln; I thought it was precious.  “I have this small painting,” I said to the cloud, not knowing much about why it had asked me the question.  “What if I could turn you into a saint?” asked the cloud, “Would you let me have your painting?”  “Sure,” I said.  I would gladly give a cloud a painting – any moonlit night would qualify for such an idea.

“What kind of saint?” I asked.  “Any kind of saint you can ask to be,” said the cloud, “May I see the painting?”  I took out the small porcelain paperweight from my left pocket and held it up in the air.  It floated up about two feet.  “Nice dawn,” said the cloud.  “Thank you,” I said, trying to figure out what kind of saint I could ask for before the phenomenon vanished.  “I would like to become a saint of wisdom,” I said to the cloud, “For that, you can keep the small painting.”

“You will now forever be the actual Saint of Wisdom,” said the cloud, “Even after you perish.”  “Wow and thank you,” I said.  “No problem,” said the cloud, and it slowly faded away with the painting.  There was nothing left but the crisp moonlit night; I returned home for slumber.  I slept well.

A True Saint

♦♦

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