The old man and his old dog walk slowly,
their summer shadows stretched out long
ahead of them.
Behind them, the sun fights to remain in the sky
even though it has lost this contest
for billions of years and will soon,
in a green flash,  surrender to the night,
only to rise up in the morning,
born again.

For the old man, it is a short walk
at the end of a long day and he will,
like the sun, soon be on the other side
of the world, out of sight and in darkness.
For now, though, there will be shared food,
the evening news,
and time to rest in the chair by the window
while he watches his old dog’s flank
rise and fall with each breath.

– Paul Bluestein

Author’s Note: This poem is entirely autobiographical and clearly also metaphorical. I am the old man walking The GingerBear, who is 17. It is late in the day and late in our lives, but there is still time to share the evening and maybe, like the sun, rise again in the morning