A Beard Full of Salt

He had a pocket full of seaglass, and a beard full of salt. He listened to the wings of butterflies, and knew each one by the sound of their flaps. He walked upon the rails of train tracks whenever given the chance, and stuck his toes in the ocean to taunt the fishes.

He lived alone.

It had not always been so.

That seemed to him three lifetimes ago. Now, he looked back upon the sound of another's footsteps tap-tap-tapping across the wooden floor of his house with a quiet affection. They sounded like teardrops falling in sand.

He had done all he had set out to do. It had not taken as long as he had expected it would. Now there was only one thing left to do, but he was in no rush to do it. So he simply was. Breath by breath. Beat by beat. Flapping wing by flapping wing.

He listened to the butterflies as they joked amongst themselves and he laughed along heartily, though they did not notice his presence.

You see, while butterflies are quite funny, he had found them to be terribly unobservant.