Like his younger days when he fought in
The Battle of the Bulge and
Returned home wounded.
At 98 he's entitled to slow down and
Simply sit.
When I walked by his garage he was
Relaxing in his easy chair with nothing in
His hands.
He was looking out through the open door to
The bit of green space beyond the
Asphalt.
I joined him.
"It's so quiet here," he tells me.
"I love to look at the trees and the
Clouds and the birds. The other
Day I saw a deer over there." And
He points to the spot.
We sit quietly for awhile and then
He repeats himself.
"It's so quiet here."
I suspect his positive outlook has
Helped to lengthen his life.
He isn't bothered by the bag attached to
His leg, and he jokes about the
Occasional leaks.
He has no pain,
No needs,
No reason to complain, he says.
"Of all the places you've ever been,
Which do you prefer?" I ask.
"Right here.
It's so quiet and I can see the birds, the
Clouds and the trees.
There's no better place in the
Whole world than right here."
And as I stare out the garage door with
Gib, I have to agree.