I do my ten-mile walk every other day now. It has become a sacred three hours where I have bouts of reverie mixed with introspection. Often, I find myself tremendously joyful as I walk along the ridge overlooking orange groves, and more than once I have seen a hawk at those times.

I have found a way up to Sunset Drive that avoids the major roads and in fact cuts through a Coolville historical landmark. At the bottom of the hill leading up to the landmark, I had seen three older gentlemen sitting on the concrete marker on numerous occasions. At first I thought they were senior citizens who were waiting for their bus to pick them up, but then I kept seeing them and realized that they were probably just hanging out. I began to wave to them as I passed and thought that soon enough we would have a conversation. That conversation was yesterday.

I had to wait for traffic to clear before I could cross over to them, and I could see that they were arming themselves with questions for me. Sure enough they stopped me as I passed and began the questioning: “How are your knees? Do you have good shoes? It looks like you’re a little stiff.” I answered, “Well, yes, my right knee does hurt a bit when—” but I was cut off. “My knee kills me. You see I had this injury in the war, and . . .” Right. This wasn’t going to be about me; it rarely is with older people, but that’s okay. I thought they would have good stories, and they did.

Chuck had on a University of New Mexico sweatshirt and was the most dignified of all three. I liked him immediately. Charles was clearly the oldest, and he dressed like it. It was Ernie who had begun the questioning as a way of telling me about his knees, and I looked into his dark glasses to see if I could see his eyes. We had good-natured banter for about fifteen minutes, if you can call me not getting to say much banter. Clearly, they waited on their perch there to swoop down on passers-by who would listen to them even for a moment. In the few minutes we spoke, I learned that Ernie’s wife is dying of cancer, that Chuck asks him about her every day, that that makes Ernie love Chuck, that Ernie wanted to be a priest but had to join the Army to take care of his mother, that all three were veterans (WWII, Korea, Vietnam), that Charles kept his teeth in his pocket most of the time (Ernie squeezed them to prove it), that Chuck was a professor of physiology, and that they all three were best friends and loved life. At one point Ernie pulled me to him and insisted that I listen. He said, “Jobs come and go. What matters is life: family, friends, living. Don’t ever let a job or a career determine your life. Live!” I was taken aback by this prophet’s sincerity and earnestness. Finally, I was able to speak, “As a matter of fact,” I began, but I was soon cut off by the next lesson. It was Chuck espousing something less earnest and less grand. In the middle of his sermon, a bird shat on his head.

I began laughing as Chuck tried to clean off his head, confused as to what had happened. “I’m sorry Chuck,” I said between my chuckles, “but a bird shat on your head.” Charles and Ernie looked at him and me with disbelief, then broke into laughter when my observation was confirmed. “Well,” Chuck said, searching for the words, “I don’t know what to say about that.” “I think the bird said it for you,” I replied. We all laughed again, and I told them I had to continue my walk, but I wished them good will and planned on talking again. They said goodbye several times each and tried to keep me, but I had joy to find on the ridge. We all shook hands a bade each other a hearty farewell. I look forward to seeing them tomorrow and hearing more stories.

As I walked up the hill, I thought of Ernie’s earnest exhortation to me about the importance of life over a career. It resonated with everything I have been thinking of late, and Ernie seemed to be onto something, as most prophets do. It was then that I thought of Tiresias from The Odyssey, the blind prophet who advises Odysseus so well from the underworld. And I remembered I never did see Ernie’s eyes.