GOATS AND GATES: 
FALLING STARS
Written By: Yarden

Tall mounds of sand swept rocks, and the occasional scorpion repeated across the land with a pattern of heat and purification. The narrow path had lead far up into the saddles of the hills, where the wind was light and the view went on for miles. Casual plants lay burned and shriveled, while only the intrepid roots thrived.

It was a game and dance that only a certain few could proceed with, and still persist to have vigor and determination. Lending faith in purpose to every leap and movement, as even the buzzard soaring above, wisely using every single feather the universe bestowed upon it.

There up in that lofty place, a small brown goat encountered a great mountain of a buck laying in the shade of a ledge where sweet herbs were growing. His eyes were black and his body grey with white blazes. Long horns extended over him like stone arches shielding his entire body.

"Stay that narrow." Said the large buck, to the younger.
"Down on that wide, where the trail go smooth, is a trap." He continued.

Looking back down the endless draw to the flats below, they both could see that path, shining in the mid-day sun like a blinding beacon. Extending into the unfathomable distance, revealing itself behind distant rocky outcrops and persisting between mountainous monoliths like a ribbon of gold. Always tempting the eye to leave the narrow and run wild toward the broad path.

"A beautiful trap, on a road that circles, and goes nowhere." He warned.
"There is no freedom to that luster, for when you eat of their fruit, you must pull those wagons of gold, and when you drink of their water, you must lower your head to the whip of the driver"

So the small brown goat, lay in the shade of that ledge and heard him well, and his words were royal purple.

There on that wide road, there are many of the flock who have become slaves to the big circus. The great path of destruction is a wide place, full of gold chariots and frosted bales of hay. Lustrous necklaces and bracelets that are nothing more than chains of restraint, hidden imprisonment disguised as protection and famous glory.

Looking around and seeing that everyone was asleep, both the flock and the wagon drivers, and most importantly the wolves and hounds that guarded the great camp of mystery, a young mountain goat lifted his head and stood.

The thought to attempt escape always persisted for the young mountain goat, but down in the desert wilderness there was nowhere to escape in the vast flats of scrub brush and cactus. If he were a mere rabbit or a cricket, the millions of bushes would hide him away in some directory of a burrow, but instead he could not see a path to peace for his large hoof.

But he was a student of the cliff and ledge, not built to be contained on this wide road where it was paved with gold and platinum, he desired the grit of that mountain and the field of its shepherd. The sounds of its sage rustling in the morning wind.
Slowly stepping over the barrier, he silently walked into the dark distance of the cool damp evening. Once he was far enough, slowly he began to gain speed and run.

He wanted to live like he never tried, filling his chest with fragrant air, bucking and snorting he skittered and leaped across the terrain like an impala. Throwing off all the lavish chains that held him down.
Shifting into the ancient practice of his fathers, he focused and used every part of his body until it was all he had to give, to find that state of mind.

Perking its ears, one of the wolves heard the small noise and began to sound the alarm.
As the mountain goat had passed into a small grove of saplings, he stopped and could hear the cry of distant howling.
With the sound of the chase, the wagon drivers and circus freaks stepped out of their wagons, and stood delighted in the dim mid-night hour. Clapping hands and exciting dogs from every location.
Like a hurricane rolling up the coast, they were dark clouds around him swirling and thundering, but they were just passing by, like all storms.

Galloping even faster, and jumping with all his strength he wanted to live, and he wanted to be free in all existence. Freedom under the falling stars and endless cosmos, finally free in the heart of it all. Even if he were to fall now and become destroyed, at least he was running free under the mystic silver moon.
The only thought continuing to course his body was to run, navigating up canyons and long dried riverbeds. Dispersing panicked rabbits from the thickets as he passed through with a great stampede of desperation to be home soon.

Leaping down the smallest gazelle path and into a long wall of brush, he emerged onto the other side limping, and falling to the dusty soil. Looking back, he could see blood coursing down his leg and pooling in the rocks and sand. In that quick time of wrestling through the hedge, something had pierced him to the bone.
Slowly standing and trying not to notice, he stepped forward and continued into the distance. 

 

Gaining back to a gallop he was able to push his thoughts aside and focus on the moment. The stars were afforded a constant seated beacon as the night persisted, while all he got was time.
And with every path being unknown and sparse of track, he wished he had the answers, but he was still satisfied to run that dusty circuit.

Eventually those wolves found where he fell, and they hated him, because he wanted to live and wanted to be free. Back at the great circus, the bearded lady danced with joy as those dogs licked and howled into the night for his destruction.
Running and running that endless path, parting between all growth of reed and cane, only the sound of the hoof marching forward like a buffalo. The young mountain goat, then found himself immediately in a wide clearing where the earth tumbled low and wide and provided a stony drainage. 

 

Under him the gravel covered stone ledge had a creek bed in the bottom, and another gravel bank on the other side with an easing slope up to the moonlit faces of a large cliff side.
Stair-stepping a goat-trail down the ledge and across the creek, he flew across the river knowing this was the one day he would be home, the one day would be free. The gravel slope up toward the cliffs were milky white in the bright lamp of the marvelous moon.

Nearing the wall of stone, and assorted boulders, there was a large old tree that had lived and died long ago. Its bark was dust, and its leaves were scattered beyond discernment. But its root was good, and it stood old and full of oils and sap. Here this old growth had stood for eons until this moment, where some would say its in your heart or just a dream, this one had accomplished it, and weathered all storms.

Then as the young buck was looking up at the long petrified limbs, he neared its base where it was damp and muddy, he heard the panting and growl of a wolf. Turning and viewing the creek bed he had just traveled from, an entire pack of wolves lay scattered from the ledge  down into the creek bed and slowly easing up the gravel and surrounding him like a snake.

They all encompassed him, and there was no escaping from them back into the wild. The young goat knew he could not go back the way he had arrived, and looking up once more toward the base of that mountain, he saw where his path had left off.
And there ahead of him, in the mud, were hoof prints.
Not the print of a paw, nor the scrape of talon, it was indeed a hoof that was cloven. And there up through the mud ahead of him, the trail was established, and indeed a very well worn trail. At that moment he knew, the shepherds love was trying to find him as long as he held his head up high, and knew on that narrow path, everything was going to be alright.

Within concluding that moment when the universe had paused - the mountain goat darted behind the old tree and up the wallered out ledges until it concluded to the tightest trail. There above the barking and scratching fiends, they ran and clawed at the rocks to gain traction but the stone was not conducive, as the goat seemed to levitate above them along the solid rock.

As the polished surface revealed more smooth terrain, the goat knew he had located a shelf too high for the evil ones to reach. Somewhere even the mountain sheep were free under the falling stars, to pursue many peaceful paths and to be free in the heart of it all.

Viewing the gravel slope and the creek bed below that strong ledge , he was onry and hard headed to stand there and be seen panting hot air. And as the eyes took time to focus in the silver twilight, it was apparent that the wolves that had chased him that far were just mange filled coyotes, yipping and scratching at their bald bodies, while the mountain goat was an ibex, with his long arching horns framing the mystic moon.

Turning and limping away up the sandy gravel path, the crying of the coyotes diminished until only crickets outlined the breaking sunrise as he walked along weakened and slow, finding rest finally in a leafy cove.