By Duncan

He walks by my window once in a while. The old man is thin, very thin. He could be in his late 80’s, early 90’s, but I don’t know his age. As he walks he seems lost, lost in his own thoughts perhaps. His gate is slow, very slow and he only trusts himself with very small steps. I noticed him because he walks at such a slow pace. The small white dog behind him resists being pulled. As if to say, “I don’t want to walk! I don’t want to follow you, no matter where you’re going.” The old man never looks back at the dog.

I couldn’t help but wonder what the man is thinking? What kind of life did he have as a younger man? Is he thinking that his life has now been reduced to walking a dog down a Southwest Florida side walk?

Retirement for some is not all it’s cracked up to be. Once I was important, I had station in life, value, an important job, a family, friends, a life. Now I walk a dog.

About the author

Stephen A and Scott Duncan publish "" Scott photographs (Duncan Photography) and is the guy who keeps this site running. Steve (left) is a photographer (Duncan Photography) and writes to ""