He looks at life. Every season of the year. Mornings, seated on a park bench as the sun comes up, he is out there. Watching light glaze tree leaves of green or gold, with a cup of coffee in hand, feeling morning on his face. Smiling as rain drops fall, snow lingers, and grass sparkling from dew. He lights a cigarette and prays to his god. God answers.

Take it in, the almighty says to the old man. Your journey is almost complete. Soon, you’ll be home.

The old man laughs. I’m already home, he says. I’ve journeyed long enough in life. This is my home.

Yes, God says. You have had a long, hard trip from Arkansas to Indiana.  Ohio to New York. Vermont and Canada. Midwest to California on busses filled with vagabonds and villains. There is a better place for you, his lord said. A place where there is no more pain. No more wicked thoughts.

I appreciate the offer. But I’m good right here.

He sipped his coffee, took a drag on his cigarette, and looked at the leaves.