If I Could,
The list of possibilities here are endless, well for most people, but not for me. Of course I would want to travel the world, absorbing all I could around me. I most certainly would avoid the ‘touristy’ areas while spending a night or two in the smaller towns, villages, homes safely tucked away in nature, isolated from modern technology, if that’s even possible?
Armed with my journal, black ink pen, paper and just enough clean clothes to cram into my book pack, I would gingerly enter a town, I know I would stand out and that’s cool, I love being different, being a bit strange, I love being just, me.
“Hello stranger!” Someone will say and with a nod of my head and an outstretched arm, the awkward part of this intro is done, the rest? Smooth sailing, easy, piece of cake, a relief. My mind, senses are flooded with a new, what was unknown now simply interpretation and understanding, without questioning.
A cold glass of water, perhaps a home cooked meal, a book from the bookshelf of a local who was kind enough to take me in. I would replace the book I’ve chose with one from my weathered book pack, with no regrets leaving it behind, enjoy it. Next morning I offer to wash dishes after a large breakfast, my gesture appreciated but denied. I move on, there’s a bus station, the fare is cheap and so I wait.
Miles down the road, dim interior lights so that passengers may steal a quick nap, my eyes gaze outwards, staring at nothing, yet seeing everything. The bus pauses on the side of the road, a passenger enters, her hint of perfume pleasantly arrives before she sits, directly across the aisle from me. I glance and try not to stare, she does likewise but with a slight yet perfect smile.
Many miles have come and gone, her name is Toria, she now sits beside me and like me, she also is a traveler, a gypsy if you will. In a older guitar case rest her acoustic guitar, it never leaves her sight, she to has left a world behind, unafraid and willing to explore the unknown, we talk throughout our journey as the night becomes morn. The sun has risen on our side of the bus, it wakens me but I am careful in my movements, for resting on my shoulder is her head, her hand tucked safely under my arm.
As soon as I can open my journal and write, I know how my entry will begin, but for now, I wait.