The unsurprising plains of white resplendence colored the empty canvas into broad brushstrokes of grey tones hidden behind the shiny blues and its thousand variations where the sun touched them and the sky painted them. Shadows being born in shy violet hues out of the contouring shapes of the mounds and the arches and desert hills contrasted heavily the whitish greys to create the unknown Renoirs of nature.
Some hills lay dormant in the distance but there were no objects that stood out in a 360 degree scan of the area and thus no point of reference. Too much use or too little practice served as constant reminders that perhaps there were forgotten things that needed remembering and it was obvious that there was confusion, instead of conviction, in his movements.
After walking what he thought was a straight line, which he admitted almost never was, he stopped and unzipped the master bag he carried on his back, and from an interior side pocket he pulled out a folded piece of canvas and held it in his hand until the distracting wind slowed down enough to give him a chance to study it. The thing was not very large but it had a measureable thickness and it was coarse to the flesh. Somehow the map seemed older every time and with its every invocation, which the man counted with the fingers of one hand, it seemed to age noticeably. Ancient and very wise, this old cartograph, heir to the ancestral and immemorial ones that aided the explorers of history in discovering the world, now imparted its limited wisdom onto him. On its face there were markings of distinct colors and lines denoting the plateaus rising and falling of an unnamed land, the same one he trekked leaving no mark that he was ever there. He held it tight stretching it as much as he could without damaging it and inspected every centimeter of it. The joke was always the same. It seemed that this path was familiar to him, but today like yesterday, there was simply no way to know if there even was a course to follow, and though he could imagine where he was standing, it was impossible to know for sure.
Why does it matter? The question was always the same ever since the first time his feet stepped on this land, where am I? That same question became a never-ending déjà vu in which entire parties of people wondered lost in the desert of the ice for years and years reminiscent of biblical stories of exodus. Likewise, his banishment which thrust him out of a reasonable world into this other one of ruthless chaos full of much more dangerous things than beasts and wild animals, and much more real dangers than the physical ones, often became an impossible task to decipher.
The shapeless circles, drawn with dissimilar colored inks, became confusing at times. With disdain of his surroundings, he accepted the fact that confusion was only another path into solitude. The solitude of having the certainty of knowing that his only companion was a shadow that disappeared at will. The solitude of knowing that whichever spot his feet were planted on was the center of the universe and that the universe existed solely on this spot.
The expanding clouds, reflective of the ground below and not much distant in color indicated absolutely nothing, and even by looking at the stars it often became a trying task to figure out which way to take other than the ubiquitous four cardinal points. In the settling desperation he began to rapidly scan the seas of clouds above trying to find a point of reference but the suffocated light which shone lazily across the land now shone evenly. There was no trace of a sun now and nothing to indicate that it was there except that the day hadn't turned dark yet. The elusive sun, however, hid sneaky behind the mantels of the depressing hues.
He folded the map into its original designated folds and put it back into his bag in a very specific compartment.
The wind, as if waiting p