When I waited at the bus stop in Oakland, I saw a wanderer, pale face, long hair, inked legs.
With him, there was a dog at whom he was smiling and caressing tenderly.

A young boy passed by, and he played around the dog. At that moment, I noticed that the dog had
only three legs. He standed up, slow but steady.

That is the moment when the picture was shot. The sunlight left the shadow of the tree like a
canvas from impressionism.

With love, lives communicate.

An alternative is here.

BTW, the wanderer reminds me Schubert's Winterise.
Here is the Muller's peom in the lieders:

There was a white coat of frost
spread over my hair
It made me think I was already old,
which made me very glad.

But soon it thawed away
and my hair is black again.
Now my youthfulness appals me:
how far still to the funeral bier!

Between dusk and dawn
many a head has turned white.
Who believes it? Mine has not this whole journey through!