The old man moved with trepidation across the icy road,
His solitary cane as spare as branches of the trees.
Long white hair flying out against a backdrop filled with snow,
Blue eyes greeting me with a silent nod of “hello.”
The two of us file past without a wave of hands,
Our breath an instant cloud blasted by the bitter cold.
Two pilgrim spirits in their house of flesh,
A momentary pause as eye meets eye,
Recognition as life takes in another flicker of life—
Acknowledgment that ravages of age
Do not dispel the reverie of morning sun.
The step cautious but alert, the head held high,
Not yet the clay prepared to slumber in its shade.
So it goes. More slowly, against the winds of time.