Stream -- People call me the wanderer.

Note: This is a stream of consciousness piece written in one session and printed with minimal revisions.

People call me the wanderer. My hair is long and my clothes are warm. They're here for me when it's time for the wind to rise. It happens, sure as the tides, when the sky gives in to dusk. I see it. As I travel from town to town, I see it. I walk down the road and I say goodbye to the sun. The brush begins to sway, and there is a rustling in the trees. Then, the wind rises swiftly, a last gasp before the night takes the sunset. The colors dim, but I continue walking.

I remember my family. It had many parts, and it was not exclusive to biology: brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, children, friends, confidants, mentors and caregivers. Some members of my family were many of those things, some were only one, and sometimes certain members became none. Some were distant, some were close, but that was not proportional to their location, however near or far it may have been to me. Some came into my life only very briefly, others were there always. Some died. All were loved, in one way or another.

People call me the wanderer. My beard is full and my boots are sturdy. They keep me going where the road gets weary. It happens. No matter my disposition or the time of day, it happens. I continue on the road and I say goodbye to everything else. The night has taken over the sky and there is no moon tonight. The noise of city lights that I cannot see has blocked out the stars. Cars are long gone having taken their headlights with them. And this is a street of only stop signs, but even the color in them has faded. The wind is gone, but I continue walking.

I remember my lover. She had so many sides to her, and I guess that was both her greatest flaw and her greatest attribute. Her eyes had a hypnotic depth. They took me in and gave me comfort. I found safety there and I felt open. Her softness was enchanting. It eased my suffering and fueled my passion. I found liberation and it made me tender. Her smile was perfect and universally enjoyed. I saw it crack. Where I had one self, she had many. At long last, she was human. No matter the circumstance, however, she was loved. She is always loved. I love her.

I am the wanderer. My mind is healthy and my body is well-fed. And so, I walk on. My strides are measured. They are not always equal, but they are measured. Where I'm going is not a mystery and when I get there, I'll know. Right now, I have what I need: my thoughts and the night. I hope for the sun at dawn. That is all I have. The road continues in front of me, and soon I'll be between towns. Out on the two-lane road, I'll see its cracks and faded paint. I'll walk along the ditches and watch the lines of crops. I continue to walk, and I'll keep walking.