Walking alone down this old country road, dusk approaching. The
orange sky gives way to gray and eventually the darkness of a winter night.
Winter nights always seem lonelier here. There is a nip in the air and I zip my
jacket up. It is quiet but for the footsteps. But whose footsteps? Are they mine
or are they those of father time perhaps bearing down on me? It is a solemn
sound, not like the light footed-ness of youth. No, those days are gone and the
memories of them are getting dimmer with each passing day. Seasons pass but how
many more will I see? Even if I tried to hold on to something, there is nothing
to hold on to. It is like drowning in an ocean. There is nothing to grasp and
the water keeps getting higher; and you feel yourself sinking below.
