Everyday the old man would walk through the town’s side streets, fields, and woods, stuffing things in his pockets. In each pocket, a world: Smooth stones and grey clouds. Sparkling stars and dying flowers. Spiders and moon-glow.
When he ran out of pockets to fill, he would go home and empty the contents out onto the floor, staring in child-like wonder at the treasures he had found. The simple things most people are too busy to notice.