He came forth from the forest,
Bug bitten: mosquitoes, deer flies, horse flies,
A painful blister on one toe,
Dust-covered, sunburned face,
Thirsty, hungry, dreaming of a hot meal,
A half-litre of purified bog water in his pack.
From the shadows of the trees
To the illumination of the vast meadow
Blinking away a blackfly determined to
Experience the moisture of his eyes,
The fly not knowing it was a suicide mission.
He had not thoroughly enjoyed the long hike.
But what activity is thoroughly sublime?
Still, he surveyed the meadow, gave a crisp nod,
Started humming an old tune.
Satisfaction.
Peace and gratitude only in his heart
For the gift of his ability to live a life
Of his choosing,
Time spent on the trail,
Embraced by nature,
Sometimes difficult, sometimes painful,
Often exhausting.
Time spent in the library,
Among the knowledge and wisdom
Of those he has never met,
Some still alive, some long gone,
Still imparting their insights.
Time among friends,
And in solitude.
A simple life,
Perhaps boring to many,
But one that glows within.