He smells of worn leather and grease.
Of the outdoors and mysterious things.
He walks a little slower now , then he did years ago.
Joints snap and crackle when he bends them, these days.
There’s a little frosty patch in the dark of his hair.
Just an angel-kissed place to remind me of all I’ve put him through.
Those hands of his that I noticed so long ago,
have a few more scars.
Each one with a story that I know.
The world might look at him , and pass by,
But the total of those parts , inside and out,
make the man I love……..