Head bent, spine bowed to the asymmetrical posture of age. He clutched the last post of a picket fence with his outstretched arms, as if resisting a gale of gravity. The same man I had seen the day before; watched in my rear view mirror and wondered about since. Yesterday morning he was immobile, yet filled with building momentum; poised to leave the last puddle of shade at the beginning of a rise where Mom & Pop stores transition into modest, single story residences. He was carrying a sweater and seeking stability from his cane. His wiry limbs and obvious determination a footnote to past youth and vigor.