The wayfarer

He stands, with his back to the sun.                                                                                                                         He thinks about his home and what he’s left behind.

His family.

His dog.

The takes his weathered straw hat off and places it next to his heart.                                                     Or the cavity that was his heart,                                                                                                                                   His heart disappeared many years ago- so people say.

His hair is not yet grey but jet, but textured like the coarsest grass.                                                         He has a young face but his eyes are flecked with something else- so they say.                                  Loss?                                                                                                                                                                           Tiredness?

He jams his hat back onto his head with unwarranted fervour,                                                             then continues along the road again,                                                                                                                       step after step, trudging along.

—-

I’m sorry for not posting in a while- I’ll try to post more often in future.