He was an old man whose inspiration was hold in high in every village of the county.
He was used to walking long hours all along the river valleys with his walking stick.
The children would gather around, asking him to tell them some stories of his life as a marine.
Whenever he agreed, he sat down on a rock immersed in his past and the kids would listen attentively as if a secret was about to be revealed.
He talked about the big waves at sea, and the ferocious winds that would blow away his beret, making him run desperately to chase that precious belonging.
He was a shy fellow, so he didn’t speak too much with the other marines. They were tough and of a large size making this young and skinny chap feel out of place.
For that reason, out at sea, he would read a whole lot of books and write out his soul, enjoying every second his inner life.
An introvert, one would say, and a kindred spirit as well.
Now, as an old man, he stays in silence pretty much all the while but when the time comes when he should recite his watery adventures at sea… That’s when his eyes begin to moisten, telling stories by themselves.