I remember seeing him in he park, a few years ago. The crooked cane that laid across his lap had seen far fewer seasons change as the man had, yet each knot and crack in the wood made it apparent that the old polished branch was eager to catch up with him. Bundled brown cloth clung to his body like blankets, but as the sun peeked out from the low moving clouds I saw that it was an old tweed coat that he had simply become to small for.

The wind picked up, and I feared for a moment that it would blow the skin right off of his body. But it didn't. The mans eyes closed, and a soft smile edged across his cheeks as red and yellow leaves bustled past him . The shadows under his cheeks shrunk as his head tilted up in a warm salutation to the chill, crisp wind.

He had seen all things come and go. He had watched death and birth from an intimate distance. He had felt every sensation, and he was at peace. The hardships of life had come only so that they might pass, and this moment for him was worth every tear he had ever shed.



Because the wind had never lost its beauty.
The sun had never stopped shining.
Its just that he had come back to it,
with younger eyes
than have ever been mine.