A Giant among Men

Giant among Men He was long in years… Of course they hadn’t been kind. Tall in his young life; His frame was now bent. He limped listlessly across his sparsely seeded ground; which harbored an old, gnarled apple tree. His ruddy, wrinkled face sported whiskers, Simple, short and silver gray. His eyes had been narrowed by time. They were stars peeking through the clouds of his bushy, silver eyebrows. His soothing smile was nearly toothless… It filled my being with joy. He really didn’t need much to be happy. There was nothing he was in want of. His faded blue denim coveralls Were neatly mended by hand… The patch was green plaid flannel and It appeared to be piece of one of his old shirts. When I would visit him, I would thread his needles. His eyesight was fast failing him. I held his wrinkled hand gently. He invited me into his earthy home… A hole dug into the ground…lined with rocks The roof was flat and covered with tar paper. The simple unsteady stairs were dimly lit. The only light came from an oil lamp. I was invited to sit in an old overstuffed chair, He told me the story of the love of his life; She had left young... and taken his only daughter; East, to live a life with finer things, He could not provide linen, lace and fine china… He was “only a farmer”. His spirit told me he was a” giant among men.” IlaMae Stucki © 9/27/10