I can see the trees backing away as I walk along the path, leaves brushing my cheeks. A crow swoops down to pull the leaves back as I approach a small glade.
On every side there are ancient stumps. I sit on the nearest. There is more than enough space to lean my pack up against its side without moving. The crow lands lightly beside me and then flies across the entire expanse of grass to catch a small weavil scurrying in the surrounding brush.
The weavil tells me that we are not alone here. That in time, there are many who arrive to share wisdom. It is a harbinger of doom as well. I know now that the ancient wisdom shared here has lead most to unpleasant ends. I meditate further.
A thought arrives. I feel it is not a product of my own awareness. Foreign tags are scrawled in the margins of my mind allowing lessons otherwise unheard of to be gleaned. As the sun moves behind a storm cloud, a smile crosses my face. Wisdom indeed is available here.
I reach out to the handles of the pack, swinging it heavily back and around. The weavil drops and begins again its scurrying attempt to find shelter before the downpour destined to begin.
We move back into the forest and trek around the wondrous glade to continue on the journey. An inner peace settles into my heart. I know now that although my destiny awaits, it is a good destiny, one that I ought to pursue with inner strength and outward peace.
o o o
What did I learn there of the ancient wisdom? That the doom of the many comes only from their attempts to flee their own heart felt desires. I hold my head higher and my back is straighter as I journey now. Inside the pulling eases as I recall the stories of my elders. Shriveled stories lead nowhere. That was the lesson they taught me firsthand. The rain starts.
_ _ _
A small cabin up ahead denotes warmth. I feel a need to join in socially. In the pack are may small gifts and needed assisters. They will buy my warmth if necessary. Through the rain and window I can make out the fiery outline of a few people, a woman in skirts, an older man and his cane, and another. I knock and the door swings open. Rain above is stopped by the ledge around the hand carved eavestroughs. The woman starts in surprise as she notices my fist retreating down to my side. A scooped bucket falls from her hand. I reach to it and gather in some of the fresh rain water from the barrel collecting the rain's runoff by the door. In handing it back to her, I have already welcomed myself in the door. The crow flies up to it's speciessake weathervane atop the roof and preens in the wet air.
The caned fellow is younger than I had perceived. His hair whitened belies his face's youthfulness. He is quite handsome in fact. I hope to spend the night warming at his side.
o o o
But what beyond success will my travels bring? My mind wanders when my feet are at rest, hot soup inside me, a handsome sorcerer at my side, lying in a soft corner with a cat on the windowsill watching a crow dance. The rain falls outside. Easy to wander then with a feeling though brief of biological satisfaction.
What else in my journey? I think to stories I have heard. Tales of adventurers finding themselves ever more caught up in a specific adventure until by the end although it does not occur to them, they have become the hero. It is as though the bard telling the tale is as necessary to the heroic act as is the boy turned knight. Can I not be my own bard, choosing the adventure in advance, and choosing as well the telling? Must proper decorum be met only by keeping these two roles separate?
He shifts in sleep reminding me of warmer moments this evening. I look forward to the invitation of journeying together for awhile. But wait, as it occurs to me that having him there will be the first step in a journey towards my destiny. The flash of awareness crosses through me intensely. I know he will accept the invitation, that he will make it to me. True companions recognize this of each other. Another reality would have had it otherwise. We would have arrived on different evenings.
_ _ _
The sun beams in. I watch his back as he takes on the look of an old man once again. Sorcerer. The storm has left the world smelling anew and fresh. I too feel newly potted, few biological urgencies and none necessary as of yet. I should eat anyway. We will be travelling shortly.
The vane sitter joins us on wing as we move from a warm breakfast into our future.
The path we choose is narrow and we must follow one another. I lead. He is a noisy walker, speaking on many topics as if he had lived the years his disguise would have me believe.
We have travelled for several days, through plants and wind. I grow weary of the need to rotate biological processes one after the other in tandem with the stars and sun. Our journey will lead somewhere important.
o o o
A storm's tendrils rattle the boughs overhead. He leads for a change into shelter before the rains fall. The cave has sparkling surfaces, shimmering edges and planes, polished. A magician's cave.
The walls cough up small seems and bumps. With a little jiggling, something not uncommon for me, a shift occurs in teh cracks. A voice ring out, "Keep your peace handy." An eldery soul pokes forth thought he shifted surface almost melting