Of Vista Points and Immortality

His trembling hand wore a glove of wrinkled skin. And in his eyes I
could see the humiliation as he struggled to get up. The cane slipped
several times on the wet pavement before it finally caught grip and he
was able to support himself. He took several small quick steps as he
edged towards the bench. With resentful determination he made his way
to yet another intermediate resting place. As the sun touched the
horizon, the entire Pacific Ocean took on a golden glow in front of us,
and blended perfectly with the Golden Gate bridge above. The lights of
San Francisco twinkled, getting ready to take over the entire view,
anticipating the day once again being slowly devoured by nightfall.

I came here often. Alone. To soak in beauty. I could soak now in nothing
but the sight of the man on the
bench. I tried hard to penetrate his thoughts. The more
intensively I observed him, the more remorse overcame me. Indeed, 15
years into the future, this old man could very well be my father. I did
not know how clouded were his thoughts, disjointed were his ideas,
victim of the long years that had begun to erode his entire being.
Perhaps he sat there gazing at the same view that mesmerized me,
recollecting his youth -- perhaps reliving a romantic encounter on that
same bench 60 years ago when he did not need his cane. Indeed he must
have come here before when he took a lot more for granted, drenched in
arrogant youth. And now he sat on the bench waiting, seemingly
ever conscious of the never-ending cycle of day and night.

A young boy, presumably his grandson, got out of the car next to me and
walked towards the bench. Gently putting his hands on the old man's
shoulders I could see his lips move, saying something. As the warmth
from the boy's hands spread through the old man's shoulders, I saw the
old man's eyes light up. He jerked his head upward towards the boy and
radiated a smile of immortality. The wrinkled old glove now lay
comfortably on top of the boy's youthful hand, the contrast of which
was as clear as day and night. The old man put his arm around the boy's
shoulder and slowly stood up, the cane assuming only a perfunctory
role. They walked together back to the car and drove away.

Darkness having taken over, I could no longer see the ocean or the
Golden Gate Bridge. All I could see were the passionately blazing
lights of San Francisco. I was awed by how beautiful the scene was,
realizing I had never stayed here this late before. I always left after
sunset, thinking that there was nothing worthwhile left to see at
night.