The Lonely Shepherd

The Lonely Shepherd

Sheep are rather peaceful, uninteresting creatures. They spend their days grazing and bleating, with nary a worry or desire to be had. Perhaps it's in these characteristics that John finds solace. Perhaps it's in these animals that the shepherd can find peace.

With a wooden stick in one hand and a rugged beard upon his face, John guides the sheep to their destination. His garments flowing in the wind, John patiently ushers the peaceful animals to the grazing field.

The sun is shining brightly, with the essence of spring all around. Clear, blue skies surrounded the mountain summit, with hardly a cloud to be seen. A warm breeze blows through the trees, rustling the grass and caressing the leaves.

In a nearby hill, a few miles down the road, stands a humble hut. Made of wood and stone, and built by his own hands, John was proud to call this home. Inside the hut, there was a scene of humble lodging; a comfortable bed, and a small, wooden table. Along the wall there was a kitchen, with a teapot sitting on the stove. A whistling sound could be heard as it brewed the drink within.

It was very cozy, with everything in its proper place. Everything looked as normal as can be. There was one thing though, that stood out. On the drawer next to the bed, next to a wooden frame, something glistened.

A Medal of Honor, given for valor in battle. Upon closer inspection, one could make out the inscription, "For God and country", etched carefully into the golden exterior. The metal was rusting, the effects of time taking its toll. The ribbon that once shined purple was now fading away, with pieces of cloth torn and ripped.

Inside the frame was a picture, one of a woman, aged 30, one of a boy, aged 10, and one of a girl, aged 12. The woman had blonde hair and blue eyes, with appealing facial features to match. The boy had dark, brown hair, and a smile that only youth can provide. Along with the girl, just beginning to blossom, the trio made for a happy image. Of course, some of these details could not be seen, as the photograph was taken without color; but in John's mind, these images were clear as day.

Examining the contents of his household, one could begin to understand the emptiness in John's eyes, the lines of weariness etched into his face.  If one looks closely, one could catch a glimpse of a younger man, and imagine a joy no longer present. One could understand the long hair and the unkempt beard, and see that yes, this was a broken man.

But for John, life must carry on. And as he led the sheep down the mountain, fully fed, with the sun disappearing behind the horizon, John gazes toward the distance. With the same eyes that had witnessed war and loss, John looks toward the future. In his heart, the exists, not hope, but an instinct, a compulsion to carry on.