18 May 2012
It was a cold, icy day. The ground was frozen and breath formed a rising mist. But the sun was out, dew drops glistened and soft whisps of cloud drifted along lazily in the morning breeze against a baby-blue backdrop. Far off, songbirds took flight from the distant woodland, singing and dancing like bards heralding the return of a fabled hero. And on the hill, unaged and timeless, stood his home. A lone cottage amid sea of green countryside and rolling fells.
It was to here that the man was looking, tears trickling down his cheek into a ragged beard, bag slumped forgotten at his side. Outside, families fought, wars raged, and men died, but not here. Here was an escape. A gentle backwater to the world. Unannounced, serene, and spared from a torrent of upheaval and changing tides that brought only destruction. Until finally peace would reign once more.
And the traveller would
return home.
The Traveller • Opuss № I