Mysterious Naked Man

I’d been hiking for hours. I’d lost track of the familiar landmarks that I used to know so well and wandered into a forest I’d never seen before. When finally, I came to a clearing, I scanned the horizon eagerly, hoping to find a way back to camp. That’s when I saw him.

He sat cross-legged in the sun, stretching his arms first this way and then that, in a series of deliberate poses that looked like taekwondo. He was tanned and fit, like someone who has spent his life outside. He was naked.

I sat down quietly and held my breath. He didn’t see me. He wore a mat of moss on his head. A disguise, perhaps? A garment to protect him from the sun? I thought of how moss was used during World War II for bandages: perhaps he’d had a head injury. That would explain his slow movements.

I’d just finished reading a novel about a hermit, and I’d wondered if they still existed. This man looked like he’d been living on the land for years, maybe decades. I wondered what it would be like to live silently, alone, with only the flora and fauna of the woods to keep you company.

When he heard the click of my camera, the hermit looked in my direction but said not a word. He finished his stretches, moving slowly and deliberately, then disappeared into the woods in silence, carrying with him whatever stories he absorbed from the land.

(Readers who want to know the history of the naked photo tradition can check it out here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here. )