Crystalline Cool (31)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (31)"
   
   3 + 1 = 4.  The Co-Redemptrix.  Dad knew Saint Pope John Paul the 2nd was shot around the 13th, and lived, further placing a bullet casing in the Crown of Mary's twelve, as she displays Herself on the 13th day.  Revelation Chapter 12; furthermore, the Acts of the Apocalypse, crowned in 12.  
   Dad had his Apache heritage, yet was wise enough to gregariously gel with his half-breed son's revelation from an ill matriarch.  That Catholicism.  That medieval and archaic axiom from a Holy Virgin's mouth, proclaiming, even in the King James:  "My soul doth magnify the Lord."
   Dad lit up a hot cherry on a strawberry cigar, wishing he could afford Castro's dictating soil of finely ground bliss; however, it was cheap here in this part of Oklahoma, and all he could do was go to the gas station, unless order from the Internet and be observed by the overly-spying American government.  Let's make America honest again.  The old USA!!!
   He knew Duncan was okay, as long as the boy had reverence for the little elves, and wasn't a bad Boy Scout; next, the old leather man joked to himself, thinking:  "Why did the Boy Scout get excommunicated?  Because he ate a Brownie."  It was all laughter, cool, blue, antiseptic, Saint Michael's cure, burning away, even with laughter on higher frequencies, as do colors vibrate.
   The Franciscans came to visit Dad.  They asked of Duncan's whereabouts.  He told them:  "The white dog can spot the North Star.  Saint Nicholas of Myra and isolation to stay pure, or as King David might say--Lord, make me as white as snow."
   The Franciscans liked dogs.  As do the Dominicans and Saint Roch----if they're tame and domesticated.  It was all cool.  And Saint Joan of Arc's fiery blue, the most intense part of the flame, rising, rising, rising.  They blessed the old man with the sign of the cross, and he humbly thanked them for their meek benevolence, knowing Saint Francis might say:  "Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace, where there is doubt, let me plant faith, where there is sorrow, let me plant joy, and where there is darkness, let me plant light."  It was all so everlasting and brightly brilliant.
   Dad puffed away, sending his prayers to Grandfather; indeed, the Little Wolf would never eat the baby buffalo, but obey, and be so tremendously tame.