The Old Man

Sounds of thunder cracked the sky as the old man walked across the land he had always trodden on.
Light rain spat at him as if in torment.
Sometimes it would pelt down.
Sometimes it would be those dart like drops that would hit his skin and remind him of his miserable past.
His pace did not quicken nor did it slow.
The place he called home was not far.

He could hear his own grunts and moans as he made his way across the grasslands. The local fauna looked on. He paid them no mind.

When the rain became heavy his face lit up.
When it eased the winds chilled his bones.
The wind chastised him.
Splattering dust, mud, even bits of the grassy land at him.

He paid them no attention.

Every once in a while his foot would hit a mud pool and he would pause to remove it.
A lightening strike would light the sky as if Mother Nature had triumphed.
He remained focussed on his objective.
He showed no emotions as to what was going on around him.

He could hear all the sounds as Mother Nature started to become frustrated with his total disregard for her intentions.
More lightening illuminating the sky and the thunder almost deafening in its efforts to have no other sound heard. The rain pelted down.
The old man carried on.
His home not far.

Steve Boddey June 2009