The old man climbs slowly out of his bed upon the horizon and filters in through the gaps of the blinds in the kitchen window. He comes to greet me each morning to the smell of brewing coffee and burning toast. He never says much, never asks for much, and yet he says everything I need to hear at that moment. He watches me as I stir in my milk and sugar, smear on a little butter, and take a bite of breaking day…

Good morning my old friend…sure is good to see you again.