The Myth of the Visionary (Take 1)
Visdorf feels summoned to the forest for unknown reasons. Alas, he is reluctant to go. The feeling has come upon him before but never like this, never so strong. He shakes his head and returns his gaze to the mysterious prose before him. He tries to focus on the bits of historical text requiring mental gymnastics and re-imagination. His mind blurs and the words spin up on the page as if in a magical vortex.
“Blast it all!” he exclaims as he slams shut the sturdy volume. “Curse this infernal vision!”
With a heavy sigh, Visdorf pushes himself away from the sturdy dining table and stands up. He turns to look out the window in the direction of the forest. The remaining daytime light is pulled toward the horizon; his dim shadow moves slowly along the wall until it is looming before him as the flickering light from the reading candle becomes predominant.
“Do not mock me, old friend,” Visdorf says aloud to his dark visage. His mind made up, he strides purposefully toward the front door, grabs his pack and bedroll, and heads off into the early evening. His steps fall heavy on the dirt road leading to the edge of town. He walks with purpose, though his own mind is not leading. The last of daylight arcs across his back and the night envelops him. He leans forward.
* * *
As the edge of the forest nears, Visdorf hears ...