Sandman is a much older, more frail person now.
He forgets things.
When he eats, there will invariably be a peice of corn or somesuch stuck to his chin that he can't feel and we won't point out.
He tells us stories. That we've heard before.
Many times before. But we laugh just the same.
And he thinks about things that he didn't used to think about. Considers things that were previously deemed unconsiderable.
There's this old saying that goes something like... well I forget... but... we start out as babies, then we grow, then we turn back into babies. Or holy 5hit I mutilated that, but it goes something like that anyways.
Sandman is in the twilight of his life.
As we watch his progression towards re-infintilism, it should be with a sense of awe... and an appreciation for life's miracles. Life's miracle.
True... behind his back we remark upon his ideas, nay idealism. Might even share a chuckle or two.
But there is an unspoken acknowledgement that we are witnessing mother nature in all her unbridled passion, splaying her clutching fingers across our Sandman, whispering in his ear...
"Sandman, I am waiting for you. In particular."
Of course, he is oblivious to that. And his stubborness means that he, not wanting to fuss over hearing aids, hears it not.
But it is there. And she is there, and they are close.... So very close.
And it will turn white.
And in some years... we will follow Sandman.
And in some years, there will be new Sandmen... here.
And they will say, "Damn! Suckahs! These old folks be droppin' like FLIES!"
And we'll be back where we came from. Up there. And share a knowing smile.
