cloudy days。

i was on a train, overlooking the passing landscape, gliding across my eyes like a neverending river of beauty.

Of snowcapped mountains.

Of wintered trees.

Of wooden houses.

The old man beside me was reading a book with a quiet and peaceful smile. His faint reflection was mirrored on the glass windows, as I stared into space the wonderful painting of nature as the train choo-choo on.

I thought about growing old. It’s like sunset. The last rays of light are always gentle and charming.

I hope to be a happy old man rather than a grumpy one. I hope to be a quiet old man with plenty of insights rather than having too many stories to tell. I hope to be sitting on a train reading a lighthearted storybook in between forty winks rather than reading the wrinkled newspaper.