He stared down at the hasty “dear john” message that was shorter than it’s name: “I’m Done” was scrawled on the sheet music for his last song for her. It hit him hard, drove the reason from his rhymes and stole the rhythm from his very soul. He didn’t quite understand what had happened…how everything had turned around so completely in so short a time. He’d thought a someone naive thought, for all he knew her: “We’re meant to be, for some unknowable amount of time.”

     She, on the other hand, had returned to her woodsman. THAT particular gentleman had built a generous log house for her, though the man seemed meek to his neighbors. Not just a cabin, my readers, oh no! He had bent his back and bloodied his hands building her a very respectably-sized house, fit for both raising children and having social dinners. For children were on her mind, as they were on the woodsman’s mind, and still they joyed in the company of their friends. But enough about THEM.

     As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the traveler started losing hope of reaching the goal of his travels. His optimism had faltered into hope, hope had given way to despair, and despair had softened into a numbness from which he couldn’t decide whether to choose another path before he went too far, or keep going because he’d already come this far. His gut told him to keep a steady path, and so he kept trudging through the days. As he walked, his mind took him back to brighter days:

     They had been chasing will-o’-wisps through the woods. It was long past dark and the traveler’s brother, being taller, had gained an alarming lead when he stopped in his tracks. Trusting his brother’s instincts, the traveler slowed himself to a walk that turned into something almost like a panther stalking its prey. He was completely silent up until he reached his brother’s side, at which point he whispered softly, “What is it?”

      The older brother said nothing, merely stared at what was in front of them. Once the traveler saw it for himself, his breath caught and the pure beauty of the scene drove all questions from his mind. For they had stopped at the edge of a moonlit clearing, a waterfall directly across from them filling a large stream that ran off towards the boys’ right-hand edge. In the middle, surrounded by patches of grass and young plants, is a ring of stones. The middle is bare of weeds, but there is a wood chimney built as if for a fire, and there are piles of downed branches stacked off to the left. They didn’t know it back then, but it was a Traveler’s Haven.

     He could sure use one of them right now! The weather had been cold and wet for moons now, his journey had begun to seem pointless, except that he must keep moving for survival reasons. And so he trudges on…