On the Shoulder

In the desolate wilderness where no roads lead to and no winds break its silence, the old man was sitting.
He was scattering magic carefully, like a child reciting new words.
But his skill was so reprehensible to be called magic. It had no meaning, and it was out of context and only a babbling nowhere near the beauty.
Magic made without principle just vanished into the air.

But he didn't mock at the clumsy work of the old man.
He knew that this was the precious moment he achieved through lifetime effort.
Paying respect in silence to the old man so close to death, he turned his steps.
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A.Shipwright
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