Old Man Joe

It was a little past 11:00; the sun is glowing bright and the temperature hovering near 68 degrees. Old man Joe dragged his humble heart, which appeared to be void of 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. This area was a sobering place where crickets sang and colorful critters crawled. The old man simply stood still.

Old man Joe leaned against an old wooden bridge which covered the slow-flowing water of a shallow creek. His aged-anchored canoe, which hadn’t been used in years, gently rocked as if it wanted to follow the flow with the cool waters. He pondered in silence.

He gazed outward, taking pleasure in admiring two red birds, which fed on the sweetness of budding honeysuckles. A red fox rested near the base of a blossoming Southern Magnolia tree. These exquisite colors spoke to his soul, bringing welcoming news of a vibrant spring.

His actions signified a mental drift. He rocked the canoe with his right foot as if he was imaging times of his youthful years on the waters. He appeared stuck in motion. His state of calmness was aligned with the tunes of nature, with its sweet melody.

Despite the absence of an occasional grey clouds, there was a brief moment of coolness; the air was soothing. Emotionally, he was satisfied as wild thoughts, passion, and relentless energy stirred boundlessly. At that moment, Old Man Joe was free.