Old man disfigured and alone how grotesque his gate and how crooked his nose and bones Slowly trudging to his seat in the front today and to condone the stares ridicule and scorn his face droopy lines adorned the front row on this mourn his first best last friend he had ever known He kneels bows and prays then heads home but not before a wink nod and smile to his lord
under an umbrella yet no rain to shield nor sun to block it’s just there out of place in space blocking views of above of you never cared for umbrellas kind of depressing
we walked this winding trail along the valley up to a ridgeline there was an old miners cabin at the top he had the most spectacular view there was a rusted bed frame still inside from his bed he could see out a tiny window to the heavens and hear a tiny creek meander below the quiet overwhelmed us as we all sat in silence taking in this vista he must have seen a thousand times we wondered who he was and why he left was it bad news from home or did he tire of the peace of being alone we followed the same meandering trail back down to the valley floor lookin back one last time we thought we saw him wave goodbye
I have been rowing myself upstream in a ten man canoe my life strapped tight inside I’ve bottomed out on shallow bends been flipped over in raging current bashed into rocks bruised then torn even pulled under to a murky bottom yet with my paddle always in one hand his good book in the other for balance I keep rowing up this mighty river to my spawning ground back home