The wind was off the bay as he headed along the path, a gentle ascent of summer now an icy encounter as he confronted the cold of winter. His age has slowed him down, his step is short and his breaths are long as slowly he moves forward.
Moving from the slick ice upon the path to the crunching snow along the side he moves with determination pressed against the wind. He has walked this walk before as a younger man, he was tall and straight his gait was strong. Now he is bent to the wind and his warm breath leaves the trail of a slow locomotive chugging along.
There at the top of the hill awaits his reward. It is the view he seeks, the memory of a warmer day and summer play on the waters of the marsh. The greens are now a golden brown, yet…
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The Boston Harbor Picayune 
Posted on January 6, 2013 by the Oracle
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