a traveller with pen and paper.
currently looking for the moon.
I should have known it. On the day I woke up right under the wooden roof next to the hay and some of the tiny mice living there - mother called it my little nest. I was lying without my blanket, got woken up by the changing of the guard, as always accompanied by the bell chime. But something was different. I didn’t know what, until I had gathered all cattle behind our house and led them down the path, past the hall of the elders and the market towards the western tower. Out of the village towards the great meadow, right next to the river where the first flowers would sprout, when the forest would awake. I was sitting down on my favorite rock, a little uphill, enjoying the intense silence of the forest and suddenly realized it. The sun was just awakening and yet, I was almost sweating under my peasant clothing. Later my Mother would tell me that she hoped I wouldn’t get a fever. And my father would add that I was probably just still dreaming and that I should care about the cattle, not the weather.
P - is the problem It is that day again, it is that meeting again, it is that time again. You are all sitting there, staring at me with your impatience and subtle arrogance. I know the clock is ticking and you want to hear me. Hear my opinion, hear my suggestions, hear my overall strategy. You say it is part of the job, so I am doing it. But I know, you won’t be satisfied. Behind your fake-friendly smile, you are already preparing a snappy comment to point out everything I forgot, overlooked or ignored. I know the clock is ticking and you want to hear me. So here I am, stumbling and mumbling some words, shreds of possible importance and scraps of probable prudence.