The Lines of Yesterday

He was hawking, he spent his days hawking to tourists, he hated tourists, he loved his country, his land. In years before he had wandered with his family across the desert hills grazing goats, making simple wooden furniture for nearby villages, ekeing out water, and then in the evening gathering with the other men and boys, praying and eating. The meals were simple but lasted all evening as they lounged on cushions in a fashion that for centuries had revived them for the day ahead. Today he lived in a house, a small one, with his wife and children, the children learned their lesson at school, no longer with the call of the desert within them. In his house was a car, freezer, microwave, television and computer. No more did he spend his evenings with the menfolk bonding, praying, eating. Today he ate with his wife silently and then watched the news on tv, he was tired and often goes to bed early. The lines on his face, etched the paths in the desert, in his world they show the laughter, the sorrow the hard work of moving caravans every night or so. The life of a nomad was hard but today the life of a hawker is banal and tomorrow the life of this man managing to live his life according to his his religion despite the technological influences, the tourist worlds colliding, cultures mixing, blurring the edges but this man in his tomorrow will keep his beliefs whilst the earth around him turns on it's head.