A tale not yet told; the tale of the old man by the shore…
He knew her from her cradle, a lifelong friend of three generations of her family. Maybe even beyond that, because He seemed to defy age. She was only eight when she’d rush, to sit at his feet; somehow He’d always be there.
She loved the tales he’d tell her, “friend,” she’d start with a wide smile after a tale, “did grandpa really do that? Papa too?”
He’d smile and nod gently.
“I want to be just like them!” she’d finally say.
She’d put her tiny hands in His large downy hand and in the splendor of the sunset, they took walks together. Her mother and father used to take the walks with them when she was younger, but now she was all grown up.
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