I do not know why I waited so long in the distance, nor do I remember exactly what caused the separation in the first place. My approach is long overdue. As I draw closer, the lines of life that are etched ever so precisely in that once familiar face, speak to me. There, do you see that small one just above the middle of the left eyebrow? At the age of five, while playing in the back yard, a fall from a lower branch of a young oak tree growing there, resulted in the fleshy tear that took five stitches to close. Though it has lost some of its wounded-soldier luster, I can recall that frightening adventure as though it were yesterday. The tiny shriek, the embarrassed laughter and the delayed sobbing that came upon discovering the blood, colorfully display themselves within the archives of my memory. Oh, how zealous was our playing. I wonder if the thoughts behind those old, dimmed eyes are similar to the thoughts that race through my mind.

Thanks.