When I was young and sprightly an old man lived up on the hill above me

He would labour half way up the ascent and rest on a ledge of ancient concrete

His tales were of our literary giants , fallen heroes of our national identity

His own part a footnote to history , no wikipedia page heralds his artistry

Now sometimes I find myself labouring half way up that formidable hill

And resting on that ledge of ancient concrete , the tides turn when one least expects it

The tide turned and I never expected it.