omg. I do live in the country

on this crisp, gray morning, clouds hung low, I slowed from my speed blurred moment for an old man in a dinghy darkened plaid jacket, hat snuggled down over his ears, heel worn boots shuffling across the farm road. slung over his aged stooped shoulder, an ancient shotgun, suspended on the barrel's end, balanced and dangling, a well used trap.

I've stored this time slowed moment within my steel sieved memory banks believing it is the pace of the realized when one is full awakened and present