The fog-laden evening chilled him to the bone as he stood beneath the street lamp.
“I am getting too old for this,” he mutters.
The juxtaposing hard-soft glow of the lamps created an eerie duality of light on the street. The long
shadows dancing in the wind-blown lamplight. The headlights shine on him briefly as the vehicle passes.
He checked his watch and pulled his cloak tighter against the cold.
The ache in his back. He leaned over and touched his toes to stretch the muscles, then placed his hands in the small of his back and leaned back, as far as he could.
The pop was almost audible as his spine realigned.
He sighed in relief.
Looking at his watch, he finally heard the approach in the distance.
He never knew when this she might tire of this.
Her incessant need to keep tabs on him was annoying, but he had long ago resigned himself.
She had little sense of humor, but she was pleasant to look at. They had played this game for as long as he could remember, and he was pushing… uh… well, let’s just say he was much older than the young lady.
He reached down and picked up the glass that he had set on the walk beside him.
She approached, her hands flying—knitting, crocheting… or something else. He was never quite sure, and truthfully, not that interested.
“Evening!” he said cheerfully. “Fancy meeting a girl like you in a place like this.”
Hand slowly demonstrating the magnificent surroundings—well… at least to him.
She winked, reached out a hand containing a small piece of thread.
“Father,” she said as he took the thread.
Beautiful as ever, he thought. He dearly enjoyed the moments, brief though they were.
“Fate, same time next year?” he smiled as he and his hourglass slowly disappeared.