Hopeless Wanderer

Hidden by a grove of tall dense trees, he appears across a glistening pond. Noble and majestic, he rests in a nook carved into the sheer cliff face that frames his garden oasis.

His head is bowed in reverence.

He has cast a spell over the place. No one dares disturb the serenity.

No words are spoken in his sanctuary, his mountain home, his final resting place.

He has been mortally wounded. A jagged spear has pierced his back. A creature that could speak fear into the hearts of men with a mighty roar and a shake of his glorious mane has been brought low.

He sheds no tears, but his eyes are full of pain.

He lies on a bed of shields, one bearing the lilies of France, another the cross of the Swiss. His strong paw rests protectively over them. The words, “Helvetiorum Fidei ac Viruti,” have been carved into the jagged rocks that shelter him from above, which mean, “To the loyalty and bravery of the Swiss.”

I rest my hands on the waist-high elegant black iron fence that separates me from the magnificent stone beast. My eyes are beginning to fill with tears. They cloud my vision and threaten to spill down my cheeks.

Throughout my life, I have never experienced true sacrifice nor truly understood it. I have read about war and revolution. Chaotic images have flashed across my television screen. I have visited war memorials and heard stories of veterans read aloud every Canadian Remembrance Day. Until I looked into the heartbreaking eyes of the Lion of Lucerne, the names of those who sacrificed it all were so detached from my little world that I had no hope of truly connecting to them. Today, I felt joined to those who stood up and fought for what they believed to be right and true, unafraid of the consequences for themselves. The grand sandstone lion, hewn to memorialize the Swiss Guard who stood their ground in defense of the French King when Paris was overwhelmed with revolutionaries over 300 years ago, helped me to gain a better understanding of the harsh realities so many men and woman face. Though I didn’t know any of them, I wanted to thank the men whose names are etched under the rock beneath the lion’s bed and so many others for what they do on a daily basis that allows me to freely experience all that the world has to offer.

The lion, with his silent stoic expression, spoke to my heart and I would never see the world the same.