Chapter I

This winter will bring good things – I’m sure of it. Winter had always been kind to him. He stood outside to welcome the familiar winds that marked the arrival of the messenger who always bore gifts. Every intoxicating breath he drew was served chilled with memories of glorious winters past. His heart dared with great excitement ponder the possibilities of this particular winter. Wondrously, hopelessly, desperately urging it to once again entertain his incredulous superstition that great things only happened to him in winter’s presence. And it would succeed marvellously.

The promise of life’s interruptions is dangerously fantastic. It is an idea that intrudes our existence with magnificent aching for an elusive unknown. The fabric of inspiration is not in the experience of beauty, but in the imagination of it. Winter’s promise was that, once a year, every year, it would remind him that the world was not as lonely as it pretended to be.

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He was lost, but not afraid. Mesmerised by the vastness of the universe reflected in the desert sands, he felt compelled to explore. He wandered the desert for an eternity before beginning to realize, that his wandering had some kind of purpose; he was following a star, visible at the very edge of the horizon. As ridiculous as it seemed, he felt drawn to it. It was not a star of any significance, as far as his secondary education provided. He didn’t seem to mind following it though – he did not intend on going anywhere in particular.

Two or three hours later, it became apparent to him that the star he was following, was not a star at all, but a large fire. Closer inspection revealed a tent, constructed twenty feet away from the large fire he had confused for a star. Nomads have been known to take part in such traditions, to signal travellers in need of shelter from an unforgiving desert. He approached the tent with a strong curiosity. As he did, a deep, resounding voice from behind him declared,

“Wanderer!”

He turned to greet a man bathed in white robes, standing atop a dune. His beard was long and grey, and darkened in the centre, like a storm cloud. With the moon shining proudly behind him, he seemed almost surreal.

“Come. Tea is ready”, he said.

Almost without question, he joined the man in his humble tent, and sat down, on the second cushion placed across from the first, the brass teapot resting in the sand between them. He couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling that his arrival was somehow expected, which only grew with the conversation.

“Welcome, wanderer”, said the nomad. “Some food? It is going to be a long walk”, he added, offering him bread.

He raised his hand to gesture that he was not hungry.

“I suppose you want to know where you’re walking to. Forgive me, sometimes I forget that wanderers don’t yet understand their purpose.”

He sat in patient amusement of the nomad before speaking.

“Purpose, implies that there is an objective to fulfil, nomad.”

“And, you don’t think you have a predestined purpose?” asked the nomad.

“No” he replied, offering a friendly smile so as not to offend him.

“You lack imagination, wanderer. Don’t worry, the desert has a way of changing that”, he said, as he picked up a handful of sand and watched it with strange melancholy, as he allowed it to flow out of the palm of his hand.

“Everything has purpose, wanderer, even the smallest things. Consider bacteria, it lived on the Earth for three billion years before more complex organisms were formed.”

The nomad paused momentarily to enjoy the tea.

“Later on, when algae formed from that bacteria, would you not say that its purpose was to enrich the atmosphere with oxygen, so that more complex organisms would eventually profit from it? But algae didn’t know that more advanced organisms would need oxygen. From its point of view, it just evolved in response to environmental conditions. From your point of view, you are just lost, wandering the desert.”

“And what is your purpose, nomad?” he asked.

“Right now? To enjoy this tea”, he replied, smiling, just before standing up. “Walk with me. It’s time.”

He followed him outside the tent and they walked past the crest of the dune, until both the fire and tent were no longer visible. The nomad stood beside him, and pointed towards the sky, specifically, towards the three stars that form Orion’s belt.

“Four stars, one for every demon. Follow them.”

“Orion’s belt? Demons? I think you’ve been in the desert far too long, old man.”

“You have a hopeless lack of imagination, wanderer” the nomad calmly responded.

“Besides, there are only three stars. Where am I supposed to find this fourth ‘demon’?” he asked, turning to the nomad, who had somehow, disappeared.