Weary traveller

Some days so long,some days so weary,some days so forgettable,others so memorable.  The people and the places change,the seasons,months,weeks and days are similar yet they differ.There was a time and a place in my life when i came across a man.I can tell looking at him now,in this out-of-the-way local bar,that he has travelled off the beat and track a time or two before.He is a restless soul,i know he has followed every dirt path,gone down every side street and foot path that has called to him.I know he is a weary man,a free man,an independent self-reliant man,i can tell from his eyes,his face,melancholy voice and crooked smile that he is at times a lonely man.Always on the move,never in the same place twice.He comes and goes from peoples lives,though a few will hear from him from time to time.He will always be memorable.You can never seem to forget him.

He captures you with the inspirational tales he tells,that is what drew me in.He speaks of places you can only dream of.He has a way about him,he brings you along on the story of his life.He shows you his way,where he has been,where he was once tempted to stay.He tells you of people on his journey,though how and why they crossed paths is a mystery to me.If he had not ventured out,would he have even known of them?of me ?.Sitting in front of him now playing the hand i was dealt,i wonder if this time,here and now with him,surrounded by strangers who became friends for a night ,if he will remember me.As he gets old,and he has stories still to be told.I guess i am always going to be how i am today to him,dressed this way,known to him by how i act and what i say.Will he see this day the same way as me?.Will he tell of a girl he once met,in this place,this city,this bar,although my name has been long since forgotten.Does he know just how much he shared with me?.He has been to every port,landed on every continent,he has made the most of his times in each place.He has left a mark behind here,a pub tale,a memory,he becomes a local legend.He is that man i know,at the start of stories i share,someone i met and know of,someone i have missed and sometimes look for.I always end his story the same way,by saying he is off somewhere out there,right now.This is what i know to be true about him.

Where ever he is now i am certain they will tell of a time when a foreign man came in,sat down at the bar,ordered a whiskey on the rocks,dealt a game of cards,told of his life to any and all who would listen.He carries nothing but his passport,a backpack and a welcoming smile.He is a man every one likes instantly,you know him or you feel you do.He is just that kind of wandering spirit.You may think you recognise him,his face,his voice,his accent that most can no longer figure out the origins of.He is just an everyday guy,with a child like curiosity of what is around the next corner.He is always in search,of what i do not know,i doubt he does either.His life is not one most men can lead,away from home,no one is familiar,no one place stays the same.The cites and towns,the hostels and the motels,he awakens each day in a strange new world.This is the lifestyle he has chosen,this is how he lives his life.Some may deem it a lonely life,he travels alone,he knew the road ahead from his first boarded bus fare,his first step into the undiscovered,unexplored by him,unknown.

He has grown to be a wise man,a cultured man,accepting of all who come across him,open-minded and determined to keep moving.He has never looked back in his life,though he has found himself asking why he continues,who will miss him?,what future lies ahead of him?.He has only his experiences,friends he has met,lessons he has learned,and tales of what has been.There is no home for him to call his own,wherever he lays his head is home for him.There is no high school crush still waiting for him to find his way.He is unsure of the way his life is heading.Still he finds himself continuing,his nature wont let him rest.He has no place to go,yet if you meet him on the street,he is always in a rush to a place,somewhere he needs to be.He lost direction years ago,he has no plan,he works when and if he can.He is realising himself simply by taking each day as it comes,he is learning more about himself.He is asking more of the world,he is finding out everything and anything it has to offer,he needs to know.There are questions in his head that need answers.He is in pursuit of something he can’t quite name,he is yet to find it.

Many envy him,out in the open road,his own man born to be free,he doesn’t see himself that way.His well worn clothes tell of his lived in life he leads.He is wandering aimlessly roaming .I think about this man often,he comes to mind every now and again,where he is now.I wonder if he remembers me,i wonder if he has settled down,though i fear he never will.His travels have taught me something.The only reason why we are still here is because we believe there is a reason to be here,where we are in our lives right now.Everyone has there reasons for being in the same places,with the same faces.Some of us struggle to find a constant meaningful fulfilled life,to have a place where we can stay,where we are loved and needed and wanted,where our friends and family are,where the one we love is.I guess having a having a wealth of world wisdom comes at a price.

I fold my hand of cards on the table,leave a tip on the counter,say goodbye for now,though i may not see him again,gather up my messenger bag,take one last look back at this man I’ve come to know,push the door out,up the street and down the block,homeward bound,i hit the road ahead.

Remember always that you are just a visitor here,even in your own life,your simply a traveller passing through.All of life is a journey which paths we take, what we look back on, and what we look forward to is up to us. We determine our destination, what kind of road we will take to get there, and how happy we are when we get there.

                                                                                                                                     Wingstruck.

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~ by wingstruck on February 8, 2011.

One Response to “Weary traveller”

  1. I met him.

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