Old Man Joe

It was a little past 10:00; the sun is glowing bright and the temperature hovering near 60 degrees. Old man Joe dragged his heavy heart, which was loaded with today’s burdens, along a musty trail behind his old farm.   

Behind his farm was a creek that bordered an awakening forest that was slowly turning green. This particular slice of forest was his forest, and it was his quiet place, a sobering place where crickets sang and colorful critters crawled.

Old man Joe leaned against an old wooden bridge which covered the slow-flowing water. His long-anchored canoe, which hadn’t been used in years, rocked as if it wanted to follow the flow with the waters. He watched, silently.

He took pleasure in admiring two red birds, which fed on the sweetness of blooming honeysuckles. Several butterflies rested near the base of a blossoming Southern Magnolia tree. These were colors of an early spring, so vibrant and stunning.

While mentally drifting on times of laughter as time shifted closer to noon, old man Joe appeared stuck in motion, but somehow satisfied with this state of calm. Elements of nature stirred to his tune, with a sweet melody.

The occasional grey clouds brought a brief moment of coolness; the dampness of the air was soothing. Emotionally, he was satisfied as wild thoughts, passion, and relentless energy stirred boundlessly. At that moment, he was free.