A walk with my man

My man is old and the bears the scar of aof years troded by the gift of age and burden only a true man can carry. The walk begins in some morning in the past in the shoulder of this man in the red hued hammock. And as I write this somewhere somewhere a familiar sound of the train is honking in a distance reminds me that life is a journey and so my journey happens to begin behind the loftyback of this sturdy and daring looking man . As a little child my little heart tremble with awe and joy at his sight and I would fall asleep at the hum of his low tone. This is how our friendship begins . So here we are today waking up to a beautiful morning as if from a long long dream and here Iam full grown man and here he is a fierce yet stooped old man and thus began our morning walk. As there is a beginning and an end to every story I fear as we go on this walk I fear we have reached our horizon and it is no less beautiful then when we peer from the distance our story is such that we have have lost much on this journey and witnessed perils and storm along the way and as we passed by strangers and houses they are no longer strangers and the houses reeks with familiar incense . In life hatred is the battle that darkened sky and love is force that shook the earth and sky to undone and we are almost there old man Adios. The walk seems long as my head fills with silent untold story and I thirst for each breath of my man though the tea garden that we passed by still seems beautiful, I look at workers in the garden and the wind brings back the same story.