The old man hunched over, sweat pouring down the deep crevices on his face. Mottled hands shielded his eyes from the harsh sun, but nothing could shield the look of resigned disappointment peering out of wizened eyes. He looked as though a gust of wind could blow him down, but the old man had weathered many a storm, and yet here he stood. He had stories to tell, of lessons hard learnt, and battles well fought. Experience coursed through his veins.

Experience that told him that the teacher can not give until the student was ready to receive.

The young ones had to chart their own course, navigate their own choppy waters, become masters of their own ships.

Times were hard. The economy was bad. Hustling was the order of the day. To the victor went the spoils. They wanted the easy life. Watching them ride the wave of a beginner’s luck, he wanted to tell them that if you dance with the devil, you will get burnt. Yet silent he stayed, listless eyes watching, not telling, fire adorning his skin. He had sown the seed of humanity, but they had to break through the harsh crust of life.

As a father, he could only bend over and provide them some shade.

Photo Credit: Joy Pixley

In response to the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge of Sep 2, 2018.

3 thoughts on “The Old Man and The Desert

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