With Each Crashing Wave
“What brought me to this place? I now see ships sailing west. I hear music in the streets and people laughing. I feel the sun warm my blood at the days end.
What was it that I followed? What was it that pushed me to this location? Perhaps the fear of not moving and being complacent is what pushed me. And the single goal I had is what I followed. This is what haunts me on sleepless nights. So, I’ll light a candle and continue the work that will someday be shared with the world. Writing until my eyes are too heavy to lift. I often wake up when the morning is gray and I stumble to a nearby shop if it’s open. Tossing coins to the baker, I’ll savor the sweet bread roll and drink a warm fascinating liquid they call coffee. The day unfolds as does my work. Speaking with the locals I try to familiarize myself with the new city. It’s what I’ve learned to do in these recent years. The conversations with travelers, soldiers, sailors, shop owners, traders, and scholars is what I’ve found myself doing to learn more of where I’m going next.
I’ll take an occasional nap on the rocky shoreline and think of what my adventures have held. I’ve witnessed rioting crowds chant to overthrow their King. I’ve been aboard a ship when the haul was torn to bits by canons. I’ve watched men and swords clash in the prettiest of meadows. Through it all I’ve tried to write down what happened with a paper and quill.
The world is changing fast. Many ships sail west. Communities are growing. Many inventions are being created. Weapons are evolving. Soldiers are starting to patrol the streets more. And here I am, molded by the interests in books, people, places, and culture. A sword I have wielded enough to defend myself. But as for the musket. . . . never have I even loaded a bore.
Once my curiosity here has run out, I’ll find work on a ship and tell tales to sailors who often like a good story. That western horizon is starting to pull me into its beauty. I want to see those lands that are far away.
As the world changes with each crashing wave my roots will always be the same; To be humble and kind, to be strong and defend what needs defending, and to be curious of whatever land I am in. That’s what my father taught his sons. A farmer and cultivator of the land he was. But also a great storyteller and traveler in his early days before he met my mother.
My voyage has yet begun. There is so much in this world to explore, write about, and experience. For each day is another chance to achieve great things and to grow as a person.”