A road less traveled.

What does a retired long-haul truck driver do? He finds a road less traveled, never wondering, finally arriving home. Every day harvesting the fruit of the desert, to have his morning fire. To warm up after a cold night; sun rises and his fire already dancing, flaring. The harvesting always silent, thoughts thanking the desert for its fruit. Not minding the cuts that bleed. Actually happy to be able to give something of his in return, something physical. Personal. To make sure the harvest keeps on. Feeding the need. For himself, or others, later on, in the future somewhere.