He had been traveling his entire life.
Growing up, he had rarely lived in any one place for more than a few years, and at times only a few months. It was hard, but a sort of wanderlust took root in his soul and carried over into adulthood.
There was always one more highway he wanted to travel to the end. One more ocean he wanted to cross. One more mountaintop that beckoned him to catch a glimpse of the world below from its lofty peak.
He was older now, and the world seemed a bit smaller place. So, he settled into this little out-of-the-way place at the end of a well-worn lane. The horizon was still very much in his eyes, and at times, his soul was still restless.
Did settling here mean the adventure was over?
Was he giving up the vagabond life that seemed to feed his spirit?
Would every day now simply meld into the next with no new places to explore?
-A Rob Poindexter Original