Tell A Tale in 500 Words

Walkabout By meg macleod

Behind the braided beard and the pony-tailed hair lay a hundred miles of walking. His self-imposed exile had extended into three years. His `marathon` had taken him through the mountains and valleys of Scotland, across Europe, just so he could think clearly without the restrictions of an office suit ,or phones or endless discussions about things of little consequence. There had been different compromises of course but they were ones he found easier to deal with ; wind, rain, terrain .Mostly his biggest problems were created by his hunger. He learnt that the modern world was not conducive to wild-food gathering . He compromised, working on farms for his supper, his daily bread , simplicity itself.

In the winter he went south like a wild bird to warmer climes where his living became easier and his thinking deeper until his mind could go no further . He found peace then in observing . Each day revealed itself to him in its unique way. He watched the wild horses of the Camargue , following them diligently, noting their form, their freedom .They were like himself , running freely, without fences .Except ,he would return northwards ,eventually in the heat of the summer and walk back into his own world to friends who waited patiently for him to find whatever it was he gone to look for.

What he had found he began to paint and draw. Images that lingered behind his eyes , sounds that whirled in his head, all became alive again in patterns and shapes, colours drifted . Words too, he had discovered , were exquisitely poignant .He had been silent for a long time .Now , when he spoke, he chose his words carefully, made them count and said nothing unnecessary.


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