Just like life

There are some experiences so out of the ordinary they forever leave an imprint.

One day this past summer, when big fluffy clouds hung against a clear blue backdrop, I set off for a bike ride along the Erie Canal near the small town where I live. I was so absorbed in the scenery I barely noticed the old man up ahead with a thick walking branch enclosed around one hand.

He raised his free arm upwards for me to stop. I couldn't help but think of Moses in the Ten Commandments, with the power to separate water with a single hand movement.

From the look in his eyes, I should have known how the ensuing t??te-?Ae-t??te was going to turn out.

I brought my bike to a stop in front of him. He didn't bother to introduce himself and began talking as if we had been acquainted for years. He spoke to the air as if I wasn't there. His ruffled hair was gray and he wore a pair of worn, dark-colored slacks and a faded button up red and black-checkered flannel shirt. I was put off at first, but I stood my ground as he started in on his tale.

He commented on the weather and asked me if I had ever noticed etchings in the dusty path. I had; everyone was always writing "I Love So and So" and "Praise Be" and all that, but he didn't wait for me to respond.

He began to relate an elaborate story about falling into the canal many years ago. He thought he was going to die, and said all he could think was "save me," when a beautiful face with long flowing hair, surrounded by bright light-an angel-and two hands, brought him to safety, before disappearing.

Since then, he told me, his faith is stronger than ever, and he walks along the path writing inspirational messages.

My friends were going to love this. I looked down to suppress a smile, finding it hard to believe what he was saying was true, thinking he was probably a wandering drunk.

I was eager to continue with my bike ride and glanced at the llama farm across the way, watching the animals parade about their fenced enclosure, their necks swathed in hair resembling a rich woman's fur coat.

Without skipping a beat, he started to babble about two geese he had just passed who were swimming around each other, cautious-like, until they finally got together.

"Now isn't that nice?" he said.

I nodded. I couldn't help noticing the ominous relevance the comment had to my own life, and a longstanding friendship with a male friend of mine.

"There is a special something to being alone with one's thoughts along here. It's quiet-like," he continued. "Once there was a thunderstorm, but I didn't mind it so much. Flashes of light and a comforting far off rumbling, sometimes loud, sometimes quiet and calm, sometimes makes ya jump. Just like life."

I stopped staring at the spokes in my tire and looked up at him for the first time, catching a whiff of cow manure from a nearby farm, a familiar scent. There was a brief pause as four hawks spread their wings above our heads, and we watched them in awe.

"It's a funny thing, this place. How things fall together. The highest of highs can only exist with the lowest of lows. It's strange. Without happiness, we wouldn't have pain, but who wants to live like that anyways?"

Immediately the pain of loss the last few years had brought came to mind, along with the struggles of deciding what to do with my life. The parallel world of pain and happiness was all too familiar, as it is for most. It had been a journey of self-discovery as I slowly recovered from the death of a close mentor. Strength always comes when we need it the most.

"There's a time for everything, you'll see. Don't be in a hurry for the future to come. When the future is here, you'll be in a hurry to get back to the past. Always happens like that."

At that, the prophet paused, letting the words sink in. He nodded at me and turned on his heel, walking in the opposite direction, talking to himself as he went.

I stood there for a moment watching him before continuing on. I looked up and out at the sky and the stretch of land below, all of it extending outwards, exuding territory yet to be conquered. The past and the future was a fine line I could distinctly feel myself crossing as I stepped into adulthood.

What could be better? To be young, with a world of endless possibilities at my fingertips, and the advice of a wise old man who lived it, for good measure.