Phillip's challenge was: Write your story about gypsies.
My father was truly born under a wandering star. It's the one that draws you to places unknown and enchantments yet to be experienced. Granted, we didn't have a brightly covered wagon. Our family of 5 and all our possessions were quite snug in the little Renault. OK fine, we didn't play celtic music, but my father was extemely good at playing on the old hand saw. Some said it was eerie, but others joined in. ♫♫♫Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam♫♫♫.
We were typical new age gypsies. No money, often no home, knew what trees were made for, gazed at the stars every night and followed father's star, never wanting.
I remember the day there was a turning point in my life. That was the day I decided that when I grew up, I'd plant my roots deep in the soil. It was the morning after a glorious sleep on a grassy plain, under the cover of brilliant stars. It was the morning I awoke, wiping off wet sticky stuff from my face. This, of course, is no new experience for all of you, but I was young and this was my first experience.
After a long yawn and body stretching, I opened my eyes. There it was staring right in my eyes. A drooling bison.