The Old Man

Leaves are swiftly blown by an Autumn wind across an old, dirt covered, wooden floor.
Silence fills the darkened rooms.
The only light comes from an open window in a far corner.
The laced curtains softly lift and fall against the window pane.
He usually sits here, looking out the window, each afternoon.
His rocking chair, slightly awkward from many years of use, creaked as he rocked.
Arthritis filled his knotted knuckles as he raised his weary hand to stroke the kittens fur. How soft it was.
The smokey colored creature lay sleeping upon his weakened legs, purring with each embrace.
So innocent, so precious, so young.
He was young once. His pale blue eyes glisten of tears as he remembers his youth.
How handsome he used to be. Even the horrible events from the war could not change his heart.
He closes his sore and tired eyes as he remembers his love.
Oh so beautiful and vibrant she was.
Her beautiful chestnut hair gleamed in the sun and her eyes sparkled with laughter.
Her lips drawn in the perfect smile and the smell of lavender filled his senses.
A tear is shed, gliding down his wrinkled, fleshy cheek, embraces the corner of his quivering chapped lips, and falls from his trembling chin.
A sigh escapes from his lips as memories swarm his aged mind.
Leaves are swiftly blown by an Autumn wind across an old, dirt covered, wooden floor.
Silence fills the darkened rooms.
The only light comes from an open window in a far corner.
The laced curtains softly lift and fall against the window pane.
An old man sits in his rocking chair, with a small smile of peace upon his lips.