Monica

Sometime in the distant past I think of Monica. She was once a lover, now a friend, distant and close and always with a familiar smile that brought me back to those early days in Munich. I had always been a traveler. Even now as my peers have settled in the comforts of domestic life, the predicted monotony and regularity that so many of us strive for. And yet I am still dreaming of places i must see. Monica was the one who reminded me of un lived journeys that even now need tending. She lives in the mountains in a small village now. She is married and has three children. She goes to church and has her meal with family. She is tall and gracious and still carries within her the spark of adventure and risk. I have come to know her family well. I have made journeys there. I walked the long and winding trails that surround her village, and even the local priest blessed me once with drops of his holy water. i even remember her grandmother, who sat every morning on the outdoor veranda feeding the cats and peeling potatoes for the afternoon meal. The cats were rather friendly and I do remember a dog as well. But why I kept on leaving? And even for a short time i took residence in the near by city. I always returned to that village and will continue doing so. It was a place of embarkment and an arrival, all at the same time. And there were moments when the country air made me restless and angry and short with those I loved. But i will never give up on that village, up in the mountains where the steps of my youth would not stop.