Abandoned Idea

It is what it sounds like :')

From the simple hovels of the Eastern villages to the grand cityscapes of the central province travelled the wandering man. His brown jacket worn from the rays of the sun and the cold, heavy rains of Spring. The wandering man took shelter in caves and under trees when the nights felt long, the sun felt harsh and the cool wind chafed his lips, these earthy rich places imparted unto him a sweet, peaty smell; The moist scent of decaying wet earth hung about the man. To those more aligned to superstition he was like an elf or fairy, an envoy of nature, whose tasks and motives appear strange and mercurial. The truth, indeed if such a thing does exist was far more human.

The wandering man, under his sun wizened face and olive skin harboured in his ropey chest a heart heavy with sadness. Sadness for all that he had seen, for what he will see and, in some strange way what he will never see or see again. For you see this man felt many things meaningless, but important. Things that were important because they were real: things that were happening every moment of every day, events, actions and ideas that meant something because they were done. And yet, all these things were at the same time meaningless, meaningless because they meant nothing in the greater scheme of things.