Speaking to the Wood

"Awful bright out here." James says to himself as he comes to.

Balling up his fists he clears the crust from his eyes. Elsewhere other men are working. Hard labor for the king.

‘For him great things!’ Finishing the mantra aloud, James sighs.

There are no men around. He’s made a habit of talking to no one in particular over the last few weeks, or months. Who is to say really.

“Talking to the wood.” James calls it.

Wandering through the wilderness is the dream of every young man. No place to be. No one to trust -- or mistrust perhaps -- but himself.

His gaze is fixed. Lying ahead are miles of fields, forests, rivers, and valleys. But in the distance, stretching out before him is the object of his admiration. The as-yet-to-be-named range of mountains that he has found himself enamored with since youth.

"A worthwhile journey." Speaking to the wood, he repeats this affirmation for what must be the hundredth time.