Etched Wrinkles

The wrinkles etched into his skin outwardly portrayed the inner spirit of the hardworking soul that lay beneath.  Many years he had worked the land never complaining about the long tedious hours in the fiery hot sun that stripped the youth from his skin.  He had sacrificed these years slaving over the farmland that had been in his family for generations.  On his head he wore a dilapidated hat, dusty and thread barren but still useful, a reflection of the man himself.  With eyes like the Mediterranean ocean, he gazed out, contemplating all the beautiful but sometimes turbulent years which were a part of his past.  The depths of his eyes were only matched by the deep furrows that surrounded them.  His moustache matching the now grey color of his hair which at one time had been as black as the night itself. A simple man who loved the land and what it had to offer, although making his fingers bent and painful. The mystery of what lay ahead not a concern for him, as he lived every day with pleasure. Looking out with the experience of an old man but his heart still reflecting a young man.