By Day

Can a man be made up of so many parts that he can be lost and unsure of paths and yet still able to function and be productive? It seems so.

If my thoughts were crippled it did not seem to bother the rest of me when it came to the tasks and duties that filled my days. They stretched out before me with plenty to fill the gaps and keep me busy.

The Central Fire warmed my shoulders and by midday I could remove my jacket and wear only the jerkin beneath. Returning the quilted warmth when evening shadows brought the change in the direction of the wind with a breath of cooler air from the South.

I spent much of these days with my wagons. There was much to repair after the wind .. rain ... and freezing cold. The rest of the time of light was spent working over the land. There were water holes to repair and dig out after the damage wrought from the storms that passed over this land while we were in the South. But the grass was good and healthy .. thick and green like a carpet and I felt the relief and pride swell in my chest to see the bosk spreading out over it to return the fat to their bones. The clouds above wisped across the blue and drew stories of great men and greater deeds. I felt the weight of scars upon my cheeks .. I felt the Central Fire on my shoulders as it warmed the leather .. I felt the balmy breeze when it swept down upon me from the North and tugged at my hair with the promise of health ... it was good.