Old man in the woods…

The old man stepped into the trees, he wasn’t really old at all, he’d just lived a long time and when you live a long time you realise that whilst there is reality, it doesn’t mean much at all.

The trees were as real to him as anything else, as real as the stick in his hand and the cap upon his head. It was a comforting feeling wandering through the trees, reality seeming to matter less and less the further into the trees he shuffled. He counted the trees as he walked - one, two, three, four, five - it reminded him of past times, a walk in the woods on a sunny day, climbing trees as a boy, chopping trees as a man.

Sapling to oak and inevitable decline. Just too many winters, but just as many summers too; he reminded himself.

Confusion? Well, why not? The world was a confusing place; red, green, black, white, boy, man, girl, woman… what a lot to take in, to process through dimming eyes and softening brain.

“Take the trees every time.” He thought.

The love was there, although sometimes hard to grasp and often too easy to misinterpret; but as he walked through the trees, he could feel the love that had long ago planted the acorn in this shady wood. One, two, three, four, five - it reminded him of past times and her laugh.

From tiny acorns, oak trees grow. And with that recognition he smiled.