Morning Constant

5:10 

every single morning he is out in the bitter air wearing a light grey jacket and slippers a size to big, watching the smoke escape his lips from the tip of the lit cigarette he holds between his two bony fingers. I make it a point to notice him every morning on my drive to work. I watch or him like the world would stop turning and fall apart if he wasnt out on his own personal smoke break. He is my constant, the one thing I can count on to show up and he doesnt even know it. I have never seen him outside of this context. I have never shook his hand never waived, never even asked for his name. He has never noticed me staring for the short second it takes me to pass his house. He has long wavy grey hair that falls upon his shoulders lightly. He is always looking up, always. I wonder what he sees in the sky, what he thinks when he puffs his smoke like a mighty dragon into the dusty air above his face. I dont know what his face looks like due the the way the porch light hits it, casting it into a shadow of nothingness. I  picture him with tired eyes and a runny nose. I want to know what hes thinking and what he sees when he is looking up. Is he talking to some higher power or contemplating his life? It doesnt really matter,  What matters is that he is my 5:10 morning constant. The one thing that makes me look forward to my work drive. The one stranger that reminds me to take the time to take it easy. To sit and contemplate the world when its mostly silent. Sometimes its the people who dont even know that they are making a difference to others that make one.