the albatross [prose] - ❈

III, the old man

I was pretty unsettled yet, I was in shock, how not to be! I needed a comfortable place to hide in, to think, I used to frequent the old lighthouse once, it was my quiet place. Mine and of the old man. 

I flew over the bay to get on the edge of the Big Cliff, there are three, the Cliff, the Big Cliff and the Very Big Cliff. The old lighthouse is on the Big Cliff, yes. It was late in the morning yet and there was no one around, I could see the quiet down near the sand dunes of the coast. The fresh wind convoyed me as a sweet melody. There I saw the top of the majestic lighthouse. I haven't seen many lighthouses in my life but this one was my favourite of all. I landed on its cupola, the quiet of that place imbibe me and for a moment I forgot the flustering discovery of that morning. Suddenly a mechanic noise interrupted those thoughts. It was the trapdoor of the gallery opening. The old man of the lighthouse appeared from the staircases with his blue navy sailor cap covering some white hair left on his head, he didn't notice me of course. The old man came up and shouted the trapdoor behind him, when he turned again he stood just for a few seconds, just in front of me, some metres away. I looked at him for a moment and I thought "well, good morning to you too." before he stabilised himself on the two feet and carelessly continued his routine. It was time to turn off the lantern that had been bright all the dawn long, lightening the morning fog. I carefully followed every move and every step. He was old and very slow in his actions. Of course he couldn't see me so the whole process continued in a solace quiet. In our previous casual meetings he used to talk to me, I'm sure he was referring to me since no other bird or living creature dared to get close to human places beside me, at least there. There was something comforting about the lighthouse, that the presence of a polite old man couldn't ruin.  

A few moments later the old man had done his morning task, so he slowly went into the lantern room to get his stool and the daily newspaper. I watched him lunting around for a bit. Just some moments later he sat, unaware of my presence, smoking his usual pipe and the tobacco's smell was all over. Nevertheless it was a fresh morning and the day was getting warmer as the midday was closer. When the old man finished his reading he just stood there, sitting with the pipe between his lips, blowing puffs of dark smoke out of the corner of his mouth or seldom, from his large nostrils. I'd have really wanted to know what kind of thoughts were nagging the old man, his facial expression was giving some suggestions but there might have been interesting interpretations. Those wrinkled cheeks and eyes carved by the Time, the old age sculpted on his face, it had its own allure. The way the Time changes your way of being and living, and how fast is Time in letting you live your travel, I could not even reach my elderly age that the Time took my life apart. 

Oh how cruel and impartial the Time is.