Warrior of the Tribal Lands


It was an homage to the seminole tribe. After some of his social justice training he wasn’t so sure. The name fit the group from his undergraduate life though. Each brother was as talented as the last in specific things. All on their own path, yet each path with a brilliant end in sight. Nomadic. Only bound together by the promises they made to one another. Bound by brotherhood. 
He gazed out. Today he was travelling to the mountains alone. There were too many thoughts in his head and some time up there would help him sort it out. The road had begun it’s winding path uphill. A rather wide turn was ahead with a river hugging it. He was parked off the side in a small dirt clearing specifically for cars to pull off. Despite the river’s size, the water splashed down in hushed tones. Winter was here.

“It takes an adventurous soul to travel.” They told him this during his interview to come to Colorado. Essentially, it meant a test of spirit. How do you fare in solitude?

His eyes rested on the letters on his car. A small chuckle escaped. There was a time when he was asked what impressed him about the process.

“The resilience of the human body.” He spoke in between the smile that was escaping him.

Now, it was time to test the resilience of the human spirit. What would he give up for this? Time would tell, he thought as he stepped back into his car. As he turned the key he felt the hum of the engine vibrate to the steering wheel. Man and machine united again. He took one last look at the mostly frozen river.

He shook his head. He needed to get back on the road.

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