Recently, I’ve begun to feel a strong kinship to the elderly. I’ve begun to notice how closely matched we are in our extracurricular activities, particularly in our evening walks, and can’t help but feel like I am one of them. Yesterday, Alan and I went on one of these walks and as my knee started to give me trouble, a group of elders cruised by in their motorized chairs. I almost felt a pang of jealousy at the ease of their movement, so quick, so fast, so agile. But then, as we moseyed along, we came across an expressive bunch of trees I had never noticed before, and I was thankful that I didn’t have a motorized chair and that a bum knee can help you stop to admire the trees.
He awoke to the same side of the street he’d been on since being planted. Same view, same company. It was all he could do to keep from falling asleep forever.
He had hoped for more. Every day he hoped for something special to happen, something to be different. He had been holding on for so long now that he worried he wouldn’t recognize it once it came.
Today, they did not come. If they did come, they would have run by in the morning. He raised his face to the sky and looked for a better day tomorrow. Tomorrow he would hope to see them again.