Antonio

There were times where i stayed at Monica's house. She lived in a two story country house with both parents, a younger sister and her grandmother. I usually stayed on the top floor, where a room had been set up for guests. The room was medium in size with a large oak bed that took up most of the space. On the walls were black and white pictures of family members long ago departed from this earth. There was one picture I recall of an old man holding a rifle. In the background an open field. He was wearing a worn workers hat, something out of an old spaghetti western. He had half a smile that could turn at any moment and his eyes seemed to be piercing the open land that lay before him. His skin was darker then his surrounding pictured relatives and there was something about him that stood out. I asked Monica about this Man. His name was Antonio. He was a hunter and a farmer. He never married and was known to wander the land for weeks on end. He was killed by lightning during a severe storm during one of his walkabouts. They say they found him flat on the ground with the carcass of a dear on his back, and when they buried him; they buried both him and the dear together.
Things were starting to feel strange in Monica's house. I found myself staying up late into the early morning hours. i could hear the grandmother fidgeting in the kitchen, making her daily coffee preparations. Than there was always the trusty rooster who finished up the job of getting everyone up. I would have wanted to sleep in, but felt obliged to be included in the household routine, as well as not come off looking like a flake to my gracious hosts. I knew I would be leaving soon and I never knew when I would return. I wanted to take in what was left. I decided to go for another walk.