Leaving; there was no where. Looking; there was no road. The silence of the forest and the whisper of the wind off of the ocean; the mists off the mountain tops and the death of the desert’s heat; the man had been many places and was still looking.
Still, looking. “I am still looking….”, thought the man, “still looking for my home.” The past in his pocket and the future on his mind he stilled his weary thoughts and lifted the weight once again of what would have to be done. The difficult task ahead, that he knew all too well, was once again upon him.
“This is life.”, he said to himself as we walked along noticing all of the people who had there own pockets and pasts, their own illusions and dreams, their own weights to bear. And it showed in their faces and in their eyes. It showed in how they walked away and to, how they moved and sauntered; how they sat and slept as he past them by.
“Mirror’s everywhere.”, he thought. “Mirror’s everywhere.”