There is an old man near my neighborhood, whose face and body has been  ravaged by time. I pass by his house everyday on my 5 mile bike ride. He looks exactly like the real live Charcter of Eustace from the Courage The Cowardly Dog cartoon show.

He and his wife (whom I call Muriel) have a vegetable garden in the side yard of their tiny home and several peach trees in the field on the other side of the house. I watch Eustace all the time (the old man - I call him by the same name as the cartoon character). He walks half of the same 5 mile trek that I ride. He is small and lean, and tanned from working in the sun. A button front shirt, overalls, steel toed workboots and a CAT baseball style cap are his daily uniform.

His face is so interesting that I want to touch it. I want to see if his skin is as soft as I think it is. I have contemplated hiding out in the subdivision across the street from his house in typical surveillance style and use my Minolta SLR (film camera) with the killer zoom lenses and take pictures of him. One day I was lucky enough to be situated in front of him in the checkout line at the grocery store. You woulda thought Elvis was behind me. I was so excited to have the opportunity to speak to him at last. I turned to him and started to say something but he beat me to the punch and made a one liner joke about groceries (can't remember it now). Then he laughed heartily at his own joke and his lower jaw - the way it opened up like it was on a hinge was so cartoonish it was hilarious.

He had one tooth that looked akin to a Brazil nut (out of the shell) and that was all. I wondered why he was still hanging onto that one tooth - the one obstacle to getting fitted for dentures. I wondered if it felt odd when he ate. He had several sprigs of near invisible whiskers here and there on his chin that where about a half an inch long.

Eustace is old. Very, very old. And I know my photo op time is running out. One day I will get pictures of him. I have even thought about knocking on his door and asking if I may photograph him and Muriel.

 Every October I watch him in his peach "orchard" cutting down the stalks of wheat with a sickle. That's right. Like the grim reaper carries. He slings it with an even and controlled, majestic rhythm, keeping his arms stiff - one hand on the back of the blade the other on the handle, he twists at the waist and bends at the knees simultaneously. It is a beautiful sight to see the old man in a golden field of wheat stalks almost as tall as he is, the black and gnarled trunks of the peach trees contrasting against the color of sunset growing up out of his ground, swooping and sweeping and never tiring until the work is all done. I will miss him when he is gone.