You know, I was sitting in my den the other night with some apple pie and a Coca Cola, and I was listening to some music and heard a song I never heard before.
It was called, “Where rainbows never die’” by the Steel Drivers with Chirs Stapleton. It was, for sure, a nostalgic song that talked about the paths of life we all must travel and how one seems to approach the end of the trail.
As I listened to the lyrics, I thought about a young boy’s conversation with an old man who has made his journey to the top of the mountain, his destination uncertain.
May I share a few of those lyrics with you in that song “Where rainbows never die”?
I’m an old man now, I can’t do nothing
Young folks don’t pay no mind
But in my day, I sure was something
Before I felt the heavy hand of time.
Have you ever thought much about a person growing old? Perhaps all you Baby Boomers out there are beginning to think a little about your past and future, and those same lyrics above.
I knew an old man once who had slowed down considerably as the years added white hairs to his head. I reminisced about his stories told to me while listening to this song.
He once was in his prime, a good athlete who ran fast, had more energy than one might realize; he went to war, came home and worked hard; he was once an adventurer of sorts, a traveler like no other.
He fell in love, had a family and traveled this dusty road.
As the old man reminisced, he remembered his young love of many years ago, like some honey from that large bee’s nest situated in that old hallow oak tree nearby.
And that old man’s journey was a little like that stream that ran swiftly down through the woods picking up speed.
A little trickle here and there at first, but as those drops of rain and water increased, that stream became swifter and more vibrant, and so it was with that young boy; he grew into a man, and his energy and strength were amazing as he matured down life’s path just like that fast-moving water.
But as I listened to his stories about growing up, and sat near him in that old squeaky chair next to the fireplace, he told me one story after another; I began to understand this old man’s dilemma.
He had lived to a very old age. And with those smiles along with his face’s winkles and so many good memories, he, too, told of many tears and his losses of his love and friends; his once strong hands and body were now filled with arthritis; his sight dimmed by the years of seeing; and the warmth of the fireplace on his back was a friend like no other.
He was getting weak. His steps had slowed with a limp; his body ached.
And I thought about the next verse:
I’m an old man now, I’m bound for glory
Time to lay these burdens down
Had enough of this old world of worry
Gonna trade my troubles for a crown
The old man was tired for sure. His energy was waning; his bones aching; his many friends gone or going. The fireplace was his remaining joy; telling stories to a young’in was next on his joy list.
I so admired the old man as so few knew of his travels, adventures and joys of life. He was on his way home from that long journey of those many miles on his wore out soles. He was sharing his final thoughts with a young lad around those dimming embers of his fireplace.
I was honored to listen to his tales.
This song too was waning:
I will make my way across the fields of cotton
And wade through muddy waters one last time
And in my dreams, I come out clean
When I reach the other side
Waste away the sunsets
Where rainbows never die
And so, it goes.
The old man gave me one parting piece of advice. “In Hemingway’s ‘the Old Man and the Sea,” he once read a line from Satiago, an old tired fisherman of that story, who offered his take on growing old:
“But man is not made for defeat,” he said. “A man can be destroyed but not defeated.”
And perhaps that’s the reason ‘rainbows never die’….
Peace be with you!
A rainbow going into the ground in front of my house (August 2024)
