Liberty's Sparkle (76)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (76)"
   
   Stephen Hawking, G. Gordon Liddy, and Bobby Rook could never enter Canada--due to their disabilities, for two that is--the other, a bad ass--cause of a parachute, a horny leprechaun, and a parrot that spoke French, having a foul vernacular.
   Regardless, Bobby Rook dreamed about the Great White North.  A cold winter-like mix of isolation and staying away from toxicity, like Saint Nicholas of Myra did, adhering to the chaste engagement of a Trinity considered absurd, or mysterious by so many.
   Still, the isolation of love.  The contemplation of nothing save icy comfort, not a nasty Nordic Rune such as Isa, causing slipping and minor curses, yet an embrace of the frosty solace of God, where everything macabre slips off; indeed, the Iceman cometh above the tree line.
   Liberty got used to the mystical cravings of Bobby Rook.  Heck, he'd bled a river of life, the blood being the life, and her knowing:  "No, Christ is not exactly a junkie vampire."  Verily, that is for the fools who chase the dragon, not taking as directed, and being the ruination of the truly ill.
   She was cooking microwave popcorn, worrying about lung cancer, and hadn't lit up a hot cherry since her time with the now novitiate Faye, having lovely reverie concerning her past--a time of reflection that she thought would never arrive.
   Bobby Rook, in mystical remission, ate the popcorn, heavy butter and all, not having malabsorption at this point, him having been touched by arch-angelity.  How lovely it all was.  And Montana was cranking out the snowflakes, like us, all individuals in the art of constructing a man, and as the old joke told by Grandpa goes:  "What's the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman?  Son--it's snowballs!"