The Traveler

Pulling aside the pot of greens and wild onion, once Lilly is done doing that, she looks to him and says, “it’s almost ready.”

“It smells delicious.”

“I know, right. It was Grammy who taught me how to cook greens. Said the trick is not to overdo it or all you will get is a pile of mush that even the pigs won’t eat. She also told me about saving my pennies too, but being how things are, guess that doesn’t matter.” That said, Lilly turns from him in sitting back in having a sip of her tea.

Gleaning from what said is tasting greens cooked with all sorts of abstract love that has him up to his feet. Debating on whether or not he should bring his pack, the dog goes to pawing at the ground that has Lilly asking, “Are you leaving?”

“Just up the road to see what is ahead of us. I won’t be long.”

Comforting the dog, Lilly tells him, “Goodbye sounds weird to say.” After saying this, Lilly offers a weak smile that has him walking through an imaginary front door. Once to the highway, takes a moment to gather a handful of stones in marking the turnoff. Built high enough to catch his eye, takes in his surroundings.

Behind him is the highway speckled with vehicles, the same for what lies ahead. As it is, the southbound highway is his path and staying within the confines of the shoulder, after returning the child to its mother, visualizes having a conversation with the man going by the name of Preacher Tom.

He will want to know why, and with this in mind, wonders if the sea of followers will part.

Careful as to not spend a lot of time on such a thought, in drifts a concerned face on the verge of giving up. The promise made has him thinking of the moth.

 

 

 

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