I often see him in the early morning hours as I drink my coffee on the front porch.          An old man in a straw hat.

He walks the same course with the same stride, confident and self-aware.  He has knowledge of where he is going ,  an awareness of where he has been and the ability to handle anything along his way.

He is always neat and pressed and wearing the same gold watch.  I wonder if it was passed to him by someone he admired.

He exudes an awareness of his history and an understanding of his world.

Pride radiates from his high-held brow.   Even from a distance, I can see it is furrowed just enough to show that he has suffered his share of hardships and sorrow, but hasn’t buckled under them.  I take a moment to admire that.

As he walks along, his gaze is all over the place, but purposeful :

 

In the trees–wistful

Across the fields–smiling

 

I wave at him sometimes, not noticed.   I wonder what he sees there that I do not.  Perhaps what used to stand in that field… perhaps what should be there still…

He owns this land in a way I never will.

When the sun catches his face just right , I can see his eyes glimmering, a deep ocean of untapped wisdom and a kindness that comes from nothing to fear.

 

How I yearn to walk with him a while–step in silently next to him and share his reveries, but it seems such a sacrilege to interrupt  his divine rituals.