Silent Dreams Sunlight streamed down onto wrinkled, tan skin as a gentle wind whispered through a head of white hair. Shards of grass bowed over for the wheels of the chair that the man was confined to and to his feet that hovered over them. A shadow stood very close to him, but its attention was elsewhere. A paper airplane flew past him but was then caught by little fingers. Deep, blue eyes fell on a child who flew the paper airplane in a circle around him. Drawings of people and animals lied nearby. Crayons were scattered throughout the grass. The airplane briefly paused in that light grasp as the shadow turned in the boy's direction, but then it s attention once again moved elsewhere. An array of lilies, roses, tulips, and lilacs caught the old man's gaze as he turned toward the large garden outside the nursing home. His breath hovered in his throat as his eyes ran over a rose's petals and then down toward its sharp thorns. A breeze blew the rose toward him, but only for a moment. Only a moment was given to him to admire the beauty of a flower before it withdrew back into the other ones. If he were to go now, then this is where he would want to be, under the sun and by the garden. "Grandpa?" The eyes returned to the child. "Why are you quiet?" "I'm thinking, Keith." "About what?" "Nothing really." Leaning forward, he snatched his grandson up in his long arms. He held him up for a moment before placing him on his lap. Smiling at each other, their eyes slowly moved toward the shadow nearby. "I'm just thinking that you are getting quite big. How old are you now?" "I'll be nine next week." "Nine? Wow. Time does fly by, and those drawings over there? How long have you been doing that?""For awhile, I guess." He frowned. "What is it, Keith?" "It's nothing." He turned to look at the shadow whose attention still remained elsewhere. "It's nothing." "Nothing? You have a talent, boy. I could barely draw stick figures when I was your age." "But it's not realistic." "What are you talking about, Keith?" His eyes slowly turned toward the shadow. "Dad said to not get my head lost in the clouds. He wants me to focus on education when I start school again." "That doesn't mean that you have to stop drawing." "I like drawing. It makes me happy, but he gets mad when I do it a lot." "Does he now?" The boy nodded. "Did you know that your father has a real talent for art too?" The boy shook his head. "He did, but I gave him the same advice that he is giving you." "So, he's right." "No, he's wrong. I was wrong too." The boy stared up at his grandfather. Suddenly, the shadow approached them. Their eyes fell on a middle-aged man wearing a brown suit and brown loafers. He held a cell phone against his ear as he gazed at both his father and his son. Frowning, he could only shrug at them before answering someone on the other end of the phone. "Hold on, Carl." He looked at the old man. "Dad, I'm really sorry. I'll just be a few more minutes." He didn't wait for an answer as he started to walk away. "Read me those numbers again, Carl because they still don't add up." "I've been thinking a lot lately. I wouldn't say that I regret my life because I don't. I just don't feel completely whole. I feel like I missed out on an essential part of my life, one that could have added more happiness to it." "I don't understand, Grandpa." "I know you don't, Keith, but, one day, you will." "So, is it okay forme to keep drawing?" "As much as you want." "What about my Dad? What if he still gets mad? What if he won't let me draw anymore?" "Keith, I'm going to tell you something, and you can tell your father when I'm gone." "When you're gone? What are you talking about?" "Look, listen to me. Later on, if he gets mad that you are still focused on your drawing, ask him if he remembers what happened on his twelfth birthday? Ask him if he remembers how I cam