"There was a time in my life when I knew everything and was unaware. I was unafraid, random, energized and free. Now I am aware, and know nothing, find fear is a bedfellow. I am controlled, weak and shackled," he said. They sat quietly for a moment as she mulled over his words. A light breeze played musically upon the leaves, the sun sprinkling down through the fresh green that spring had brought with the rains. They sat gathered beneath the old oak of the field, on a tapestry of fine woven wool, the old man in an armed chair.
"Is this a good thing, to have grown in this way?" she asked pensively and with reservation.
He chuckled. "Much like this gnarled old oak, I grew as was necessary. What sets me apart from the tree is regret. It follows oddly, dear, that who one wants to be is shifted to what one becomes by the forces that limit your fates." His gaze moved across the sky to her lovely face. "My dear... the tales of gallant men and women who stand against the storm, who bravely speak out their thoughts with abandon, who act freely unconcerned of the judgment of others, we tell those tales and raise these people up because that is what we imagine we are, what we wish was right. And yet, we spend our lives denying these paths to one another lest others become our better. We become what we sow, rather than what we dream, and believe in the fairy tales that say we are great. Those tales are what our dreams are made of. But this life, we make this life miserable in our efforts to bring others down so we may lift ourselves up. For what purpose? This dream an illusion. One never can hold it without losing everything else in one's hand..."
"You might be called cynical, grandfather... ", she offered.
"Yes, perhaps by the young who have not been burned in the crucible of experience and age."
"I plan to be brave!" the younger of the two women exclaimed.
"A truly great person will tell you, my love, that they want not to be brave, for when you a brave, people want to hurt you. Whom the gods will destroy they first call great. That is where courage is born, and I have no doubt you are courageous, but you will be hurt grievously if you are brave", he replied. The younger woman smiled, stood and hugged him tightly.
"You are a wise man, grandfather... but I will be brave nonetheless."
"Thank you my dear.... but that is where the regret comes. For I have not been brave. When life offered me moments for bravery, I chose instead to remain silent. I chose not to be hurt, or to have those who love me be hurt, and instead chose the lower road. I don't know that this was brave, or good."
The young man, leaning against the tree spoke for the first time, "M'Lord... Sometimes minor aggravations must be borne in silence for the greater good."
The old man looked into the younger man's eyes, "Aye, Sir Trent... but what is the greater good? To lay down when one should stand, for personal safety and imaginary freedom, or to stand and risk all so that others may find long lasting peace and true freedom? I have remained silent, and lost personal peace to gain momentary freedom. For what purpose? I regret."
The younger man nodded in respect, seeing the tear that gathered then made its way down the old man's face. He loved this man, more each day, for what he had done, noticed by few, that gave them all life, that even now the old man seemed to have forgotten.
"I think, old man, that you have been more courageous than you might allow...".
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