Slowing Down

A river cuts through the center of this town. It's small to be sure but it's a river. In years past soldiers from the revolutionary war trod on it's muddy banks, maybe they found rest there, or maybe not but one thing is for sure they were here. I imagine them sometimes when I sit on an old bench underneath a tall oak and watch leaves float to and fro on the rivers currents. On one occasion as I watched a maple leave bob it's way in front of me and then dip magically out of view I looked over to see a solider from time past sitting on the bench next to me. His face was blackened with dirt which blended perfectly with the drab earth tones of the shambles that passed as his uniform. The iron of his musket glinted like it was gloating as it leaned against the back of the bench. We sat in a sureal silence for afew moments and then I commented on the weather and how nice it was I waited for a response from him and none came so we sat him and I the river kept flowing as if it did not have a care in the world after awhile I wished him a good day and left the bench I was almost back to the road when I turned around to get one last look last I saw him he was sitting there rifle leaned against the bench behind him watching leaves as they drifted haphazardly by Before I turned around and walked back into my life he looked over his shoulder and offered me a small nod along with the beginning of a smile I have not been back to the bench since as far as I know he is still sitting there watching whatever the currents carry by with the beginnings of a grateful albeit sad smile etched across his war worn face