Sprezzatura

He sits in the corner of the dimly lit carpeted room, knees hunched, head bent, eyebrows knit with concentration, writing in his journal. A leather bound one with dog-eared corners is worn, a constant companion through the last 14 months. The fading afternoon sun drawing shadows across his forearms forming bands across shirt and skin.

Rads spins a fable about a man driven by faith [hat tip: Anantha].