A lone traveler

Her graceful feet didn’t even look as though it touched the dew filled ground. His eyes watched her awe-struck as she rustled the daisies along the walkway. Her wavy chestnut hair braided loosely by her side suited her bohemian styled clothes. Little did Rowena know that an artiste was watching her across from one of the tents pitched in the field. Unaware she continued to hum her favorite tune – a piece that James composed from his hand carved flute. It made her feel closer to her lover James. He had the softest sandy blond hair and the biggest heart. “He was supposed to be back two moons ago she said quietly” as she looked at the daisies. That was where James plucked the first flower to confess his love sheepishly to her. “He is such a romantic clown” she reminisced . However his absence dampened her mood in a jiffy. “But where is he? “she questioned angrily as a tear rolled down.

“Man, I would love to know her” Antonio sighed as he dipped his brush and made smooth strokes on his canvas of the mystery lady. Antonio looked away before the mystery girl’s face turned tear-stricken. The crouching position numbed his legs and he raised up to give a good stretch. Her image imprinted in his mind, he continued his portrait. Antonio – the painter from Italy. He wanted to  capture the different culture in the world. Yes, some French or Spanish would visit his town. He even met the Arabs cloaked in white dresses with some headband. But his heart wanted more. He never knew how big the world is. Somehow Antonio guessed it must be huge.

One day he mustered the courage to spill the beans. “Papa, can I have a word with you ?..” he stole a quick glance at his old papa who just got back from his tailoring shop.
Antonio didn’t know if he should continue. It’s selfish of him to leave his old papa back in the village. His mother was a nanny in an affluent merchant’s house before she passed away couple of years ago. She would tell tales of the merchant’s adventure when he was a young boy. He brought it to life through his sketches and slowly his passion grew. His parents always encouraged his passion and beamed with pride at his meticulous work. He even sold a piece to the merchant. Perhaps his papa will understand, he assured himself. “Papa, I want to travel past the countryside..” Antonio blurt out eagerly. His father looked into his eyes, Antonio felt as though his papa could see his soul. He held on to his breathe and prayed silently to God and was surprised his papa couldn’t hear his pounding heart. “Maybe his old age is taking a toll on his hearing , he amused himself. Finally his father spoke, after what felt like eons “Do as your heart desires, my son” blessed his aged papa. He couldn’t believe his luck but his papa continued ” I don’t love my job and everyday feels like a milestone to me. I always wanted to explore and learn so much more. Some things can’t be taught , it  can only be felt. ” Antonio looked into the man’s eye which lost the spark that it once had. Now it is only a mere reflection of an old soul, that regrets its choices. So follow what your heart says.” I am going to take a leap in faith and I will send you my drawings Papa.” he said as he clasped his father’s wrinkled hands. Two years have flown since then.

Now Antonio is travelling up north and he is near a place called Prague. He wanted to have a day’s rest before he continued his journey. Little did he expect to see such a beautiful lady to take his breathe away. Something about her, attracted him. He came across so many beautiful ladies through his two years of journey. He wasn’t too bad looking himself. Raven hair, tall and well built but none of the ladies captured his heart except this mystery girl. He knew what to write to his papa this week and he had to send this memory. So he got down to what he was best at, sketching.


17 thoughts on “A lone traveler

  1. Vamagandhi says:

    1. Follow your dream
    2. Dad is the best
    3. A girl can ruin your smoothly sailing life 🙂

    Jokes apart, a great read; beautiful imagination and culmination of thoughts.

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