It was a pleasant spring evening. The sun was just above the mountainous horizon, its light turning the skies pale orange. The mountains prepared to devour the sun into their lap.

As the sun went down, the darkness came crawling from the other side. On the far mountain, the shepherd was taking his herd of sheep back home.

The river flowing down from the farthest of the snow-clad mountains was making its way through the terrain.

The last rays of the setting sun sparkled upon the river and it shone like a band of fine silk threads.

The sound of the flowing water was neither so high as to disturb the melody of the ambience, nor was it too low to go unnoticed.

On the other side of the river was a dark dense forest. The last whispers of the chirping birds had almost stopped. The distant sound of the wolves howling from the woods was becoming profound.

At the edge of the forest and the bank of the river, there was a wooden bench. An old man, in his late 70s, sat comfortably on the bench, quietly observing and enjoying the scenery around him.

He looked like an outsider, a stranger to that place; yet his eyes said that he belonged there.

He had watched the same sunset, sitting on the same bench the day before and for many days before that yet he was as pleased by it as he had been the first time.

Finally, the last light of the sun disappeared beyond the mountains and darkness completely shrouded the skies. The old man took off his glasses and gently put them on the bench.

He closed his eyes and...

And suddenly I woke up with darkness all around me. I turned on the light and walked to the washroom. I've had this same dream for many years now.

And all of those times, everything made sense, except that old man. He seemed like a misfit. I washed my face and looked into the mirror and I couldn't help but notice one strange thing.

As I'm growing older and older, I'm looking more and more like that old man.