The Merchant of Cold

Ron Koppelberger

The Merchant of Cold

Farther and in wandering post the expecting, everlasting ally prevailed, in beloved summons and demeanor. A fame of employ and perfection, a quick resolve sanctioned by rages of easy arrival, he pardoned the rays of frozen bound delivery for the scattering of wheat grain, in snow and atop ice.
Bidden by fresh spring passage and in notice of rebirth, the merchant of snows pondered by the lines of destiny, the wonder of will, the will to seed frozen soils with the inheritance, the blessings that secret gardens turn.
He chanced the sprinkling of saffron seed in baptisms of cold and desolation and the soft division between god and seasons of fate. It was a ventured creation in seas of nothing but ice and cold earth, silhouettes of province shaped in poverty. They would find purpose, seed consented to the merchant of cold and keep. The ice would bow to the miracle of sunshine and rebirth, the rebirth of a dream in amber and glowing hope, for the wont of those who would come to pass. The day wore long nevertheless the cold yielded the secret harvest and the future of mankind.