Love - a homosapien story

Love

A Homosapien Story

 

Young man is walking outside of a cave somewhere in Northern France and towards the long river. He walks to the river every morning when the some rises over the mountains that he watches from his cave. When the fog releases its grip on the morning forest he grabs his sticks and foot pads and heads towards the river. At times when the fog is too heavy and the caves too humid during the night, he’ll stop inside the forest nearby the next village of friendly men and drink from their leaves that hold the morning dew for the thirsty hunters of their village. This was one of those mornings.

Young man is a hunter. He doesn’t have a family or necessarily care which of his friendly villagers are his family. People hunt and people gather and this is the way of things. Sometime after he begins running long distances the men in the village give him a stick and tell him to find small food. The small food is for the new place he’ll sleep. That cave is the new place. He’s a bit taller now, a bit stronger and a bit darker. He knows the river and he knows the mornings. He makes especially sure to know the friendly village. They are a village of many women. The village has men and these men are very strong and dominant over their women. But they are few. The friendly village was attacked when it was coldest by another unfriendly village. The friendly village remained but with less men. This was all the young man understood.

The young man strode through the valley towards the friendly village with strength and pride. He had a cave, many hides to sleep in and always caught a fish. He was a proud young man. As he walked up the last hill towards the friendly village and through the brush many women approached him and asked about him. Young man said he was thirsty and was on his way to catch many more fish in the long river. The women cooed and appreciated that he intended to catch so many fish in the long river. The women offered him drinks and fruits and he accepted only the drinks while offering to return for their fruits. An older friendly man from the village, a very slouched and tired older friendly man, approached the young man while he drank from the leaves of the women.

“Your cave, young man, it makes you thirsty in the mornings very often now. One day, you will stay and never be thirsty. You will bring your fish here and drink the leaves whenever you like. We always have more leaves for young hunters”, said the old man.

“One day I will stay old man. But I have many plans and there are just as many fish in the river as I can try to catch”, said the young man.

“You will see, young man, that you have not yet caught any of our fish. But they are all waiting to catch you”.

Young man listened to the old man and looked into the eyes of the many women. They liked when he saw their eyes. They always looked back. He drank from their leaves, choosing which to drink next. He was always so thirsty in the mornings. Then something rustled in the leaves on the hill that he climbed to drink from the friendly village. He looked over the many women and over the old man and listened behind him. Still the sound remained.

“Danger!”, said the young man as he forgot his drinking leave, grabbed his stick from the ground at the old man’s feet and turned to face the sound with his back hunched and stick facing the sound. The women gasped and fell behind the young man in nearly single file and held each other while the young man made his bear face towards the sound. The old man watched.

But the sound was a friendly villager and it was not a coarse sound. It was a soft sound. The sound of a woman’s feet wearing the grass as she glided through the wet morning forest. The woman was wearing many sticks, sticks just like his and she had not brought him a drinking leaf. The young man stood and watched the woman walk down the hill in front of him gently, easily and with a strong purpose. The women moved about from behind him, picked up his drinking leaf from the ground and offered another. The young man pulled his stick back towards his chest and put into the ground, leaning against it. He watched the young woman walk down the hill, away from him and into the valley. She was leaving him.

“That, young man, is Lena. She is going to the long river…”

“The long river?”, said the young man with surprise.

“Yes, she is not as thirsty as you in the mornings, young man. She does not need so many drinks. She leaves every morning for the long river before you come to drink from the many women.”

With this explanation the anticipation in the young man grew and he no longer saw the many women and their drinking leaves. He picked up the sharpest of his long sticks and threw it far into the distance over the hills from which he came and the woman left. He picked up his last sticks and walked down the hills, into the valley and towards the woman. When he found his sharpest stick standing tall in the ground he was surprised. He did not see the woman. She had not stopped. He looked far into the forest and towards the long river and wondered why she had not stopped. The young man leaned heavily against his stick as he looked into the forest. He studied the forest and watched the forest move. Then he grew frustrated and slammed his stick. As he looked down to watch his stick strike the forest ground he saw them. It was her soft foot prints that waded through the forests ground that weaved its way towards the long river. He watched the soft feet fade deeper into the forest and thought of her. Why had she not stopped when she saw his sharpest stick? The young man leaned off his stick and slipped his foot print in hers and followed her soft feet into the forest and towards the long river. And he thought of her.

 

II.