The Loners

There is an old man down the street from our campsight at Glacier National Park. He has a tent fit for the von trapp family but is nevertheless alone. Next to the tent his gleaming red motorcycle is parked and along with it a matching red trailer. He has long gray hair which is indented just above his hair from the place that his black bandanna rests. When he walks his boots click against the asphalt. He wears black leather pants which match his patched black leather vest. The patches don't really tell me much about him.

He stares at the Mountains every night. They must entertain him but if they do he certainly doesn't let on. He looks bored. He likes to watch us as we pass his sight each day with bucket of sump water, or toilet kits, on our journey to the jon. He doesn't say a single peep.

I'm dying to know what he is doing here. Alone and not appearing a bit restless. He is in this beautiful place that takes your breath away, but he is still breathing. He doesn't look the least bit shocked, interested, or moved. He is simply watching casually. Watching life like it was meant to move without him in a place where life is everywhere and always moving be it in the leaves, the water, the wind, or the animals.

What am I supposed to learn from this man who is all alone and wants to be all alone?