The sun was setting on the Florence countryside, and William hadn't half a clue where he was heading. His fast life had left him little time to relax and just disappear from his 9 to 5. And he already felt like he had driven for over.
It had been twenty-four days of meandering down the French asphalt (and quite often just cobblestone). He needed a break. And when he finally opened the letter his mother left him he knew that his time had come. He knew that he needed no further signs. He knew that he found his calling. Not love. Not God. Not Family. Not friend. Not in your storybook.
He knew what he wanted. He knew what he needed. He didn't know what it was. Not exactly. But his mother always knew. And he knew that she would have something for him someday even though he left her earlier in life. --------------------------- The sunset called time on his day. And the nearby farm called on his shelter.
