The Sauntering Disciple of Feral Jesus

The Sauntering Disciple of Feral Jesus

I sauntered today.  Saunter.  Saint Terre.  Holy Land-ering. Walking as sacrament.

I pulled a spotted apple off a low-hanging branch.

I drank clean water from a mossy stream.

I viewed miles and miles of tree canopy from a rocky promontory

I relieved myself where I wanted.

I took a long nap under a sweet-scented Juniper.

I caught a fish and fried it over an open fire.

I didn’t do a lick of work.

I said to myself, “Surely I am the only free man alive today.”

Then, I happened upon another sauntering disciple of Feral Jesus

He looked immensely satisfied.