The old man sat on the porch watching nothing in particular, but watching non the less. As he watched memories played through his head in a random order, although perhaps they played as they did due to the things he absentmindedly watched around him. The things that he took little note of, but no matter. What he thought about is what was important. Nothing of earth shaking consequence, in fact nothing that many of us would care about, but to the old man they were bits and pieces that on the whole made up his life, the things that made him who he was.
Looking from the outside at this mans life, one could say he was a good man, one whom you would gladly have as a friend, There was nothing to set him above many others, no great discoveries, no great works, just a life that was lived, with high points, and low points, and a general happiness, with a scattering of grief and despair. He was an average man, but unique, his experiences, his feelings, felt by him as they would not be felt by others. So in a sense he was special.
The yard, once his pride and joy, was not kept as neat and trimmed as it once was, crabgrass grew in tufts here and there. When it first appeared the old man did what he could to eradicate it, but this year he admitted defeat and the tufts grew more numerous day by day. The flower beds were still along the sides of the yard, but other than the peonies planted years ago by his wife, and still bloomed with a beauty that was much to brief, only a few flowers struggled up in the weed filled beds. But he stilled mowed the lawn once a week and kept the grass at a tolerable height. But yet it hurt his pride to see it going slowly away, that what he had worked for all those years.
The porch on which he sat was little used anymore, the few chairs covered with dust and dirt. The porch swing on which he spent many evenings swinging back and forth with his love still hung, but unmoving in the waning light. In years gone by it was an inviting porch, drawing passing neighbors in for a chat, neighbors now gone, or just a place for the family to sit and chat in the evening after the heat of a long summer day had finally given way to the soft, cooling breeze of the evening. But that was long ago, the children were grown and gone, his wife, well he lost her last year, although, he thought to himself he lost her long before that to alzheimers. He winced thinking of those last months, when she did not even know him, and the years they had spent together were a memory that although it was once shared by them both, was now only his. He felt a pang of guilt when he thought about the momentary relief he felt when she finally did pass. A tear formed and slowly moved down his face, before it fell he shook his head, as though fighting off a bad dream, and his mind moved on to other scenes that wandered there.
He glanced to the left, his eyes taking in the tree he had planted 30 years ago. He remembered the day the hole was dug, his sons one ten, the other six helping him out, at least in their minds. After a few shovelfuls of dirt were turned they lost interest, that is until he brought the hose out to water the freshly planted tree, The watering of the tree quickly degenerated into a water fight amongst them all that went on until still laughing and soaked to the skin they made their way up to the porch stairs and sat down drippng and drying in the sun. So long ago he mused to himself, and the tree stately now in its growth of thirty years gently moved its branches in the wind as if remembering too, that long ago day.
The boys had grown tall over the years, tall and further away, both in distance and ties. Married and their own families to grow up and old with. He was a grandfather now, and saw them once in a while, not often it seemed, but a small voice over the phone saying hi to grandpa and even an occasional visit. He thought, It is always like that when the children grow, they move on to their new life leaving you behind, it was the same when he married and left his roots behind. He planted new roots with his wife and they carefully tended their new life with care, and love, and hope, until it blossomed with life and was vibrant and brilliant, but in his mind it was as brief as the last rose of summer.
And the day wore on, the sun moved across the sky as it had always done. Clouds danced by, throwing shadows down that covered the land as they moved across it. The old man still sat and watched, wandered the paths of his mind.
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