nightly mission

A night and day have passed withall a solitary moment to write thee, alas events have unfolded in ways unforeseen. As thee will remember - the drunken beggar staggered into the glade when the sky had just shed it's sunlit rayment and donned night's mantle. For the span of darkness we were inexhorably entwined; but dawn brought him to a dreadful wakening and, as honourless and shameful an it may be my heart felt fear. Perchance the separation from humanity and all their follies - loves and laughter - has made me into a long haired hermit; skulking deep within the forest far from the courtesies of civilisation. But face him I could not. Thus I hid on the fringe of the grove with my craven heart athump in my chest to watch him rise.

Much akin to a fleabitten cur he scratched in unseemly places and with much muttering rose to an ungainly height. Tis my thought, as I shifted for view from amongst the leafy fronds, that his head felt the pounding of liquors' hammer as he clutched his head and moaned and cussed something fierce. But as with such pangs it passed and he steadied himself. Twould seem that he carried some manner of pack about his person, or mayhap many, as from one he pulled a most tarnished bowl which he filled from the pond and thirstily drank down; as if to quench a terrible drought within. The glimmering waters filt him with vigour for after a second bowl he stripped down and armed with a cake of softly fragrant soap sat down squarely within the pond. With barely restrained indignation I was forced to watch him dirty the water, humming a bawdy tune in a rough voice as he scrubbed layers of grime from his person and from his clothes. Once he had finished his ablutions and his clothes adorned the branches surrounding the glade akin to an audience of tattered scarecrows; he pulled one pack to himself and from within retrieved a few curious objects. Milady, with a speed which would have shamed Merlin he had gathered a handful of dry twigs and built a small, well sheltered fire. Abubble on top was a most curious pot - magically filled with beans that soon sent a most delectable scent wafting amongst the trees. Thus, huddled in sticklike nudity over a the ruddy warmth he consumed the beans and scraped the pot clean before returning it to his pack. With his hunger sated he sat back and fell into another comfortable slumber, perchance to dispell the remaining vestiges of his nightly embrace of the bottle.

Still, I hid myself in the thicket and watched, waited, till he awoke. The sun had risen to noon and sunlight was now falling through a darker circle of clouds to fill the glade with a light that glimmered across the water and on the leaves like fairies wings. And as the sunlight played upon his face and brought a warmth to his awakening he was once more caught within a light. A vision that seemed to transcend the mortal thew of flesh and bone and glorified him with a halo of irridiscent glory that seemed a portent - a voice from the heavens. Milady, as this thought revealed itself I nearly missed his departure. He had wrapped himself oncemore in the humble rags of his station and buried the coals. T'was then I caught a glimpse of the bottle and my heart wept for him; for even in this most blessed of places the world's pain so filled his heart he sought this foul reprieve. T'was with tears in my eyes I watched him wander from the glade. Once more, bent and as ragged as he had entered but perchance with a smattering of regathered fortitude. Thusly I pray at least.

But thus the adventure does not end, milady. Once he hath passed from eye, if not mind, I scrambled down into the glade. And lo, the waters of the pool was once more crystal clear. And there beside it, half hidden by the leaves and branches where it fell, was the pack. T'was made of a curious fabric in faded blue, tough as leather but supple and where the edges had scuffed through one could see the very fibres. Inside he had left his pot, a small receptacle that bore an artful image of saucy beans all round its side. The others inhabitants of the pack are no less. Some are beyond my comprehension, objects that are foreign beyond my comprehension and would surely be as wonderful as the treasures of Araby. One pocket held pages of torn parchment, thin as if scraped with a knife, and each piece is covered on each side in tales of the world. Milady, stories of Jerusalem and wars beyond our comprehension. Tales of a myriad of Kings and Queens, nobles. Milady, as a chicken scratching for a grub will ne'er peck a ruby, so I am a fowl scratching the dirt sheltering this precious knowledge. Whilst I've read every word I fear it is beyond my ken, tis simply too complicated for me to understand without a broader understanding of their world. As Solomon wrote in Proverbs,

    A man's steps are directed by the Lord. How then can anyone understand his own way?

Thus I think the Lord hath guided me to the path He wishes me to tread and thus I must walk this way in faith for I comprehend it not. Verily, this resolution frightens me milady. It truely frightens me to the blackest bottoms of my soul. But amongst his few posessions there are dirty and tattered clothing, sufficient in size and shape to cover my lanky frame and a single letter, penned on a dirty and much folded parchment. What is writ there, milady is this - "St. John's Holy Mission - Hot meals and Shelter - Free to those in need. 8th Street and " the rest rendered illegible. T'would seem that the beggar was a herald sent to provide the means if not the very reason; or so I hath reasoned after a night in contemplation. For if he can face this world then so should I and thus I have gathered my quills and inks and what few posessions would be fit for this strange time and with this unfragrant gift am about to leave the shelter of this comfortable glade. Mine arms and armour hath been carefully hidden and as I am writing this letter in the early morning sunlight my heart is filled with a curious buyoancy, a happiness that heralds a change of direction with a renewed sense of purpose.

I wilt be far from our tree's bole and thus my humble letters to thee might be perforce delayed in their delivery; but be assured my feet will find their way to this glade anon and thy magick can once more bring my words to thee. Milady, my love, I cannot tell thee how much my heart longs for thee. Just the blessed assurance of thy tone or the soft fragrance of thy presence would surely strengthen me beyond measure; even as the memory can now succour me. My heart will always belong to thee and I, in hopeful trepidation, will remain thine.