A Dream About a Tall Man

Imagine if you will, a traveller. A Kiwi, looking for the first time upon verdant green hills in the Swiss Alps. Imagine majestic mountains, snow capped, the sun shining gloriously upon the scene. Imagine a beautiful old hotel, nestled at the base of one of the mountains, foothills rolling away from it, flowers gently swaying in the breeze.
Our traveller has toiled up the foothills, and is excited to reach his destination. It is early morning, and the many residents of the hotel are rising. There are no other buildings in sight, just the massive hotel, with outdoor tables in the sun, and the doors open and inviting. There are notices pinned on the wooden door of the hotel, alluding to activities in a nearby town.

There are many guest wandering down and ordering breakfast, carrying hot beverages and food out to the tables.

Our traveller wanders in, and greets the staff. He orders some kind of delicious food, and goes to sit down at one of the indoor tables. On the table is a glossy, folded document. It looks like a play programme, or folded brochure. It has our traveller's name on it.

The traveller looks around at the guests of the hotel, and recognises many of them as fellow Wellingtonians. There is a festive atmosphere - it is clear that many of the other guests have recently arrived, and are excited about what the morning holds. They all seem to be holding copies of the folded brochure.

Our traveller looks at his brochure, unfolds it. Inside is a brief message, penned in gold ink in a flowing hand: "I have gone into the mountains to write. Do not follow, for I shall not be found. I shall return when my work is done. I leave you this, as a parting gift."

The brochure unfolds, and is an advertisement for a Wellington based writers' group. There is an address, a manifesto of sorts, and a list of people already involved. There is also a large glossy photo of a tall man, familiar to our traveller.

Somewhat forlorn, our traveller looks up from the brochure. Around him others are reading, and looking up in disbelief. They had gathered here to meet with the tall man, and have learned that he is gone. There is shock and wonder on their faces.

Then our traveller spies a tall man, wandering up the valley. He has a hat with a jaunty feather in it - an alpine walking hat. There is a swell of excitement amongst the assembled kiwis - but it is not the tall man. It is merely a doppleganger of sorts.

Our traveller looks back down at the brochure, at the list of names on it, and is happy. He will return to Wellington, and keep excellent company, and await the return of the tall man. And in time he will share in the tall man's Alpine wisdom, wrestled from bears on snowy peaks.