Old Man

A half a cup of tea on the table
An old pair of shoes near the door
The ceiling fan above turns slowly
Blowing cool air across the floor

On the porch sits an old man
He rocks on his chair back and forth
Waiting patiently for the hot sun to set
While always looking to the North

In the distance thunder begins to rumble
Leaves rustling roughly in the growing winds
The first raindrop that falls to the ground
Brings the smell of ozone as the storm begins

Lightning flashes in random bursts
Creating strange dark shadows on the wall
Yet the old man still sits there peacefully
Not bothered by the chaos of it all

He has lived a very long life
And seen many storms before
His bones are now weary and worn
His muscles are so tired and sore

A few moments pass as the rain falls
Puddles growing on the sidewalk below
He closes his heavy eyes one last time
His last thoughts, no one will ever know