Crystalline Cool (46)

   
   "Crystalline Cool (46)"
   
   Dad, that stoic yet jovial Apache elder possessed something beyond symmetrical counterpoise, waking to his face being licked by the Golden Retriever dubbed Roadkill.  "You stupid dog--I love you, and I know a dog's mouth is hot and less contagious than a man's with wicked words."
   But as Dad pulled himself out of bed, he was filled with visions of reindeer and a biological son witnessing macabre things--this disturbed Little Wolf.  He had to wrap his patriarchal spirit around the young, crazy half-breed of a child, whom he adored.
   Remembering his son's words concerning the mighty King David, Dad said aloud to the reflective heavens:  "Let the morning bring word of Your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in You.  Show me the way I should go, for to You I entrust my life."
   Dad didn't want pain to smear Duncan.  Didn't want violence to arrive.  Didn't want to go all Saint Joan of Arc on any soul armed with toxicity towards his child.  Nevertheless, he knew we are in the image of God, most of us, us sons of men, and those that are--many tapped into by malevolent spirits that thrive on pain.  
   Dad brewed some green tea with a kiss of spearmint, moved his bowels, fed the dog; next, blew further prayers to the heavens by way of a blueberry-flavored cigar.