There are hours like these: magic and silent, when the sun is still sleepy but slowly warms the earth underneath. He looked through the trees to the lake. How long will be the walk, he wondered? He was not sure of the destination, just a rough plan sketched on a book and hope packed on a rug sack. Rain had destroyed his map the previous day. Even better, he thought… Now it was just him and the sun growing slowly into the water.
He thought about his plan: cross the world to talk and learn from people, fall in love with smiles of all colours, cry of sadness when facing the rudeness of the world, get drunk with all liqueurs and see many mornings as this one, when the sun is pure and the world turns silent in his honour.
How long will be the walk, he wondered? Would he ever return? A bird stopped in a rock nearby. In that moment he understood: no, he would never return… he had a story to tell.
For V.
