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.