The word, “Leave,” staggered him to his knees. Immediately thereafter he bought a plane ticket to the world’s deepest woods to study plant propagation and leaf circumferences, and then, he told himself, “to the world’s next deepest woods.”
For the next fourteen years of his life, millions of leaves passed through his hands, yet one day, while deep in the woods measuring a leaf he heard the words, “Go to the place where you know where all the, ‘No Left turns are at’! Go home, please, there’s love here.”
From words blowing in a strange west wind, and after countless measurements of leaves and grafting of plants, producing all sorts of mysticisms, he hoped that once again he could have the mysticism of love. A smile slowly embraced his face, and he began moving home.
Home was a place where ‘hero’s from novel’s’ held up in little hovels, home for him was where all the people wore bouquets in their hair, home for him was San Francisco, California. He would settle there for the remainder of his days, he was sure now. He didn’t even have to aim his car after he heard those words ---blowing in a strange west wind.
He didn’t press the accelerator. It pulled him ---but only briefly because he blew an engine rod and had to take an alternate route home. But undaunted, he made his way to the nearest Amtrak Station. He would continue with his journey while taking in the sights while sitting in an Amtrak Train.
While on the train it began to rain, which he understood through clever eavesdropping on his traveling companions that it had happened often this year. The conversations on Market and Main streets, and in the food-cart, sounded with a familiar rhyme, “Had been an extremely prosperous and bountiful year, yes?” and or, “this particular rainy season it really (Really) rained a lot,” and he dreamed of wild flowers blooming all around and near his home, and after that last anxious turn he saw that the hills surrounding his home were such a green, a green which he had never seen before, and from that day on he no longer had to concentrate on the exhaling of his breath, it easily released itself.
And when he saw the skyline of San Francisco he was finally able to let his rifle, which had saved him so many times deep in the world’s jungles and world’s woods ---with the safety latch pushed tightly in the no longer needed position. No more was there a need for the man to have his finger constantly on the trigger. He was safe, and finally …He was Home!
The End
