Print of a Man

I had walked out of the bush an old man. How Old, I did not know? The years had passed without the need to celebrate the remembrance of a birth date. There was something familiar about the place. I noticed a man rocking lazily on an open porch. The old man resembled the face I have when I gaze at my own reflection. We pause and stop, our eyes studying each and every feature of the other. He is fa...