One flight in. One flight out. She had only had one book signed before. A female author, at the end of church service. But this was different. Like a kaleidoscope of color and a prism practiced in grace, this was a new land for her. And a new state. He lived in a land of cold and snow. Winter a given. Hers, a fragile peace between cool and cold, bitter and sweet.
He won’t even know who you are – just hand him the book, let him sign and then disappear, folding in the hands of those who want to touch him, make themselves known.
“Has he now become your muse?”
He inspires me. And I know I must write.
“And what Character do you become in this play of your own choosing?”
The one who learns.
Like finding a home, the comfort and haven of the script is not too far to travel. There is a gentleness she can detect and an inner calm to his features. Once displayed, like Sunlight, brilliant and burned, she could not turn away…
The flight was not long, only a few hours. She made it her mission to sit unobserved. She would only listen. He had dared to dream. And the dream had become real and he was reading his own stories…She closed her eyes and just let the words resonate within..
She did not need to see – he painted these landscapes well.
The line was long to meet and greet him. It angered her almost that he was so Handsome. She did not have time for this – her life was neat, orderly, single and strong. Yet he had provoked something within her. His creative spark was strong.
Her turn. She handed him the book. He was indeed a Storyteller. He had read the chapters with ease; a fondness for the script. He rewarded her with a smile. His eyes warm and inviting.
“Your name?”, he asked gently, politely.
“Does not matter, your name will be enough”.
“Every name matters…” He waited patiently. She noticed he had not signed.
My name is Kim…Kim Maria.
He smiled and opened the front cover, signing the page, his fingers swiftly making the figures.
Language is so important to the soul. She had promised not to dally. He handed her the book. The line was getting longer, the whispers were becoming impatient. Eager and excited adherents would not be deterred. He reached forward and took her hand in his.
Nodding thank you, she shook his hand and stepped aside to let another make their way to meet him. A firm grasp on the book, a firm hand on her senses, she walked towards the end of the room. She turned for a moment.
He stood there still, watching.
One flight in. One flight out. It had not been long. And yet she felt she had left something behind, with the man, in the land of cold and snow, in the land to which he belonged.