Embellishing and finishing a story

It was very early in the morning, earlier than usual for the retired Martin. After a whole life waking up before dawn he could now remain delightly in his comfortable warm bed until the sun had climbed high in the sky. But that night, the terrible depression he suffered from since he had been confined in an elderly people’s home, prevented him from a heavy refreshing sleep,  even though he had had the pills that the doctor had prescribed.  He woke up several times with a spine-chilling quiver which shrank still more his decrepit body and distressed soul. Never had he felt a so uncanny feeling. It must be the pills side effects- he thought. He put  awkwardly his dressing gown on and shambled to the window. He decided to wait the day light doing what calmed his anxiety down most, drawing. So, he sat  in his rocking chair and taking  his drawing book  he started to sketch something like a huge  tree and a boy. He always have drawn the same ladnscape since he has been there. It was like an obsession. A state of semiconscious crept into him letting his mind fly away with the sweet twitter of the blackbirds that nested in the garden of the old mansion, mainly all over the old oak which,  as an impressive long armed  giant, dominated the centre of the vast  terrace. Suddenly, there was silence, such a deep silence that Martin was affected. He saw himself coming into the picture and padding towards the old tree where a not older than ten year-old boy  was drawing. The scene was so puzzling that Martin rubbed his eyes. For a long time, he looked at the kid deeply concentrated in his picture. “Who are you? “-He asked the boy. But there was no answer. “Do you live here?”- he asked again. And again the silence was the reply. “It seems a beautiful picture”-Martin insisted. But the boy didn’t look away from the piece of paper as if he hadn´t noticed Martin’s presence. Martin approached him a little more and leaning over the picture, he could read what it seemed to be the little boy’s signature: “Martin”. Had  he streched his arm to touch the boy, when a sharp voice came him round into reality._ “Mr. Martin, come on. Let’s go into the house. You know  you mustn’t go out barefoot. You are going to get a terrible cold_”. He turned round to the nurse and silently shuffled into the house.