Mr. Greybeard.

His eyes are the first thing you notice.

Cold and steely blue.

They have seen much during their lifetime, no doubt about that.

They can say so much, yet also so little.

 

His time ravaged, battle scared face is the next thing you see.

What emotionless emotions he must have seen?

How he must have lived?

You cannot help but wonder just what life had thrown at him.

What caused him to gain those scars in the first place?

 

There is quietness to him, like he has no voice.

Maybe he does not wish to speak; maybe life has dealt him one too many bad hands?

But without words he can portray a million and one things most men cannot.

While he may not show his emotions, or lack thereof; he can be very silent about them.

Something about him just tells you what he is trying to convey.

 

His beard and hair tell you that he has seen life, that he is older than he feels maybe.

They speak of a man who has known all that is good and all that is bad; wrong and evil with life and the human race.

Has he love and lost? Has he felt pain and sorrow? Has his heart known joy and happiness?

All questions I could answer, if I knew him.

Five years of a close working relationship; and yet I know nothing of the man stood in front of me.

 

The man that has just saved my life.

The man that is clearly my heron and saviour.

The one who is holding out his weather-worn hand for me to take, which of course I do.

Who is this man that I know, yet know nothing about at all?

Author's Note

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