I used to be able to look deep into the distance and see with great detail, making out the movements of the sunlit leaves as they would gently give in to the breeze’s persuasion. Looking further, I could fix my eyes upon things–perhaps a mile away–and observe the sharpness of the edges.

Not long ago, I began to notice the oncoming effects of age setting in. This physical shell I call a body is changing in more drastic ways than before–ways once less subtle. Those crisp visions are no longer like that of a perfectly ripened fruit; more like the fruit that has sat for too long in the sun. Not as sharp and not as keen.

But is seems as though as this ability to visually see into the physical world fades, the keenness of intuitions build. The overall ability to, “become wise,” if there really is such a thing, takes flight…

The wise old man: frail and fragile. Blind and deaf. Not sure at times, but he has seen the world many times over, and he has known what I have only known a few times or never.

As we sat together, I was the one looking for that same clarity and crispness captured with the eyes I am beginning to realize are withering. The old man, well, he has forgotten why he once enjoyed observing those things in far off distances.

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