Sits in the same chair, been doing it for years, he’s reading that old book. They pass him, the grandchildren, they don’t want to engage with him, he’ll ask questions, he is boring, can’t run or walk, just an old man reading a very old book. They go out on the street, leaving the old man to the book.
A year later they are back in the house, the old man is still reading the book, picking through the threads, adding bits to the wisdom he has been pooling. They shrug, I told you, all he does is read that book, no one will believe it, he just reads it over. Across the street a painter works a mural.
Years later they are back at the house, he must be nearly a hundred, there, he is still reading that book, his eyes, how can he keep it up, they shrug, go out side, they catch up with old school friends, they are at university now, across the street they notice, Jesus, what a beautiful mural they say.
He struggles on his back, the temple is being repainted, the light is poor but there is day light left, he wants to finish it before his vacation, he adds a few strokes, eases back, takes a second look, the shade of blue is perfect, her eyes mirror the blue in her garment, giving it the divine affect.
They went out in pursuit of what was only going to last a moment, well, once consumed it’s gone, while what the old man pursued, was what was going to last for ever. Nice and easy does it every time. Solomon sighed, what’s the rush, time is plentiful, what were you going to fill it with, was what mattered, amen.