The late fall sunset was particularly beautiful that evening when the old man was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch

His rummy eyes can barely see the denuded fields beyond the gate covered with dry vines and shriveled flowers.

His wispy hair stirs in the breeze as he shakily strokes his long white beard.

"It’s been a good Life," he thinks.

He feels a warm hand soothing his arthritic shoulder. His gnarled hand reaches up and pats the hand that comforts him.

The hand that has worked all her life, now knobby and wrinkled, from an endless life of loving deeds.

He closes his eyes and breathes a deep sigh of satisfaction and resignation.

It’s time to go.

He rises slowly from his rocker, and turns to gaze in the eyes of his beloved. The one he has been so devoted to, and cared for. The love he feels swells his heart.

He holds her closely and whispers, "I love you"

She pats his back and drapes his shoulders with a warm shawl, and hands him his walking stick.

He takes her hand and they walk slowly off the porch.

He opens the gate for her, one last act as her consort.

They stroll, hand in hand slowly down the lane to the main road.

Waiting at the crossroads, a mist begins to gather

He looks at her again one last time, and no longer sees the crone, but the beautiful maiden he gave his heart and life to so long ago.

She hands him a gift and says, "I’ll see you soon, I love you."

As the last rays of the sun fade, his grizzled beard gently kisses her wrinkled cheek for the last time, hands her his walking stick, and steps into the mists and beyond the veil.

She stands there, not moving.

The stars begin to come out as the sky darkens.

Her faithful hound comes and sits by her, both of them silently staring out into the quiet mists.

Not until after the roadway of the Milky Way trails across the heavens does she stir. She reaches and pets the head of the hound and hears his tail slowly sweep the ground.

The dog makes a tiny whine and sniffs the air, The Crone says, "It’s alright boy, come, we have a few loose ends to tie up."

She looks into the mists one last time and whispers, "He will be ok�?

And she turns and leaning slightly on her beloved’s walking stick, heads back to her cottage.