Amphibology Adal (1)

   
   "Amphibology Adal (1)"
   
   Old Adal had learned the Pledge of Allegiance; plus, most of the Bill of Rights as a German immigrant launched into this wondrous web of woven America.  She didn't fly her old country's flag, but Betsy Ross' flag, remembering and having reflection upon the old ways, and thirteen already here, not seated at the table or born Nordic, but Fatima and the design of inviolate-white and cool-blue Dodging like an L.A. player in the outfield.
   She was 53 years of age, had a shotgun, merely a .410, but it would scatter some teeth, and make a squirrel into a pot of soup with one blast.  Living in Idaho she knew of much Native wisdom, adhering to not only the animism of true Americans, but old European folklore, of course, it gelled with the Trinity, her always chanting:  "Holy Trinity, One God--have mercy."  Knowing the Koran states not to put God next to the Gods; however, Saint Patrick's 3 leaf clover example displays it the best, for they are separated, yet ONE, the Father being the Crown; next, a 4 leaf clover, and you're talking the female phantom of luck known as the Virgin Mary.  But people have their heads in their phones, chasing robots, not knowing the SPIRIT is greater, forsaking Matthew 4:4, Christ bluntly saying:  "Man lives not on bread alone, but on every Word breathed from the mouth of God."  
   Adal was single, and she liked it that way.  Didn't want a yeast infection, or for John Barleycorn to resurrect her into a state of stupor, though she fancied the Green Knight, knowing decapitation puts Sir Gawain on an honorary quest for the totality of truth.
   Sad.  Every one has a nefarious agenda save the tradesman.  Sad.  Phony news.  Totally phony doctors.  Bush League schools.  But the welder always fits a pipe, baby.  And Adal cranked the fire, lit a cherry, and purified her lungs; next, exhaled prayers to the Father.  Her father.  And possibly yours too.  Perhaps . . .