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The walker

December 7, 2014

 traveller

Dedicated to all invisible travelers …

The walker puts the boots on and tightens  them up. He is sitting in a simple, quiet bed. The boots are dirty ones, yet not torn; timeless boots, that some ancestor passed on.

His body is thin and tenacious. His eyes are open as storybooks and his beard, long and gray as in adventures about hobbits and heroes.

It is very early in the morning. A brief and hot coffee is waiting on the small table down there, at the perfect abandonment of the tiny motel restaurant.

Everything is ready to continue the eternal pilgrimage. The large backpack leather, the diary with incredible events and brilliant ideas, a brown hat with countless stamps, and two water canteens … one to calm his own thirst … the other just for the sake of others.

He whispers a short and sweet goodbye to the young lady behind the desk, and she gives him back a look of hope. The walker hits the dusty road and after a glance at the horizon, he sets off … once again.

No one knows his name, where he comes from, where is he heading, but everyone feels an immense peace, this passing-by man leaves in their hearts.

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From → Philosophy

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