I first saw him yesterday morning. Standing on the corner, his posture spoke of a defeated man. He turned and raise his face to the morning sun, the wintry rays of sunshine turning his tears to shimmering rivers. The rivers traveling down the landscape that was his face, found a final resting place in a bushy white beard.
I last saw him yesterday afternoon. Standing next to the hearse, the coffin blurred out by his tears. He once more turned his face upwards, they had to hurry. The day was running away from them, disappearing into the ocean. The funeral had to be over before the final light vanished and night came in to hide the black hole in his heart. The setting sun turned the world into a marshmallow pink, a warm mountain wind would bring rain over night.
We turned the corner and the procession disappeared from my sight. The prayers called to heaven by family and friends silenced by the hustle and bustle of life that carries on.
A tragic yet realistic reminder that we do not know the number of days in our life. Spend every day in gratitude and let those who live in your heart know that they are loved.