By the trench we stood. It had been dug to collect flowing water if it rained. On top of it were sacks filled with soil to reduce the speed of the running water. On them we stood like always. Only this time, we had been pacing around the compound silently as we listened to calmness of the night. He thought out loud about his past. It all seemed like a dark space only to ask himself how fast time had flown. The good memories were like shooting stars in moonless nights only to realize how fast goodness flashed by us everyday. I thought he should be sad, but he kept a smile. He believed that if he smiled at the world, it would smile back,and that happiness was a string of good moments collected and joined through life as to give meaning to one’s existence. For that, I called him wise.
There is a grace that comes from growing old, and its patience. It’s the realization of the nature occurrence of things and waiting as asked. The mystery of wisdom lies within the understanding of the knowledge acquired in life. Our pasts are experiences from which knowledge is stored with unrecognized patience.
He said, “the darker the past, the clearer are the shooting stars. Our pasts are dark only to help us remember the little shining moments for us to say the we lived. And thats the reason am smiling tonight.” And for that too, I called him wise.

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