Always

An errant wind ruffles the surface of the lake, disrupting the satin sheen, quicksilver becomes watered silk. The breeze caresses the old man and he looks up in wonder as he sees the spirit of God moving across the face of the water. He loved you always. The wind is no more than a gentle sigh. The old man sighs with the wind. Memories plague his psyche. Ruefully he smiles, he must protest: Life is not short, it is interminable. He loved you always. A grey cloud scuttles across the horizon. He rubs a weathered hand across his face. His heart sits like a stone in his chest. The lake and the sloping yard and the ancient trees and the old man long for you, for the gaze of your eyes, the touch of your hand, for your mere presence. He loved you always. He ponders the errors he knows he made. He is wounded by your impatience. The sky begins to weep as the tears run down the old man's face. The surface of the lake pings as the old man rises wearily. The sky is shattered. He loved you always. He slowly makes his way up the broken path, laid with such great love so long ago, hardly able to bear the weight of his memories. He was once your resident hero. He loved you always.