the time is white

the old man was worried, lost in his inner concerns. "i just hope i won't stay here much longer", he says, showing his ever trembling hand that never stops trembling, as the autumn leaves that outlived the fall and dare - in vain - survive the cold winter. "my life was hard". he smiled. "the hair knows. it tells the whole story."

i looked to his hair. pure white, as eternal snow in the highest peaks. older than time itself.