There is a man in a park in the neighborhood I live in. He is a fascinating human. My love of writing and photographer has gotten me in this mess. To observe and watch all of his actions and the park itself. The mystery of why he sits there still st...
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"Sir," I timidly tap him on his shoulder, "I was wondering... why do you sit on this bench?"
The man looks at me. His onyx eyes is truly turning gray, like I thought. He smiles at me, showing his decaying golden teeth. "Sit down and you will know."
I pull out my black leather bound journal and my signature red pen. "May I write about you?" I ask him as some of my raven hair, sadly, falls out my messy bun.
"I surely doubt you need to ask as you have been for the past three days." He chuckles, a low deep chuckle.
"You know?" I ask as my shoulders slouched forward in shame that I'm awful at being stealthy.
"Of course, could I hear what you wrote?"
"Okay. . . which one? But. . . first may I ask why you sit here? I mean not to be rude, but you sit on this bench at sunrise and sunset. You seem as if you wait for someone but no one comes." I try my best not to be rude yet my curiosity makes me seem so, in my opinion.
"Curiosity overpowers you, little one." He states as the sun began to set.
"I'm not little. I'm fourteen." To say I'm mad is the kindest way to describe my feeling. I've always hate when someone says I'm little.
"So the story?" He looks at me and smiles. "I'll tell you my reason if I can here what you write little one."
"Ennuyeux! Fine." I open my leather bound book and turn slightly in hope to read with the small amount of light the setting sun provided. "'There's a man who sits at a bench in between the meadow and lake. He sits there staring at, both, the lake and the meadow. He watches the flowers bloom in the spring, watch them thirst for water in summer, begin to struggle in the fall and wither in the winter, to start all over and repeat. As he watches the meadow he hears the thunder of the clouds looming over everything in the spring and the nails of rain hit the water. He hears the cheers of joy of children as they holler "I caught a fish! Look, I caught a fish!" and their parents always say back "I'm proud of you." in the summer. He hears the cars, the bikes, and their feet crunching the leaves in the pathway in the fall. He hears the lake freezes over when winter occurs. He hears the ice skates on many feet. The way they slowly and softly cut the ice of the frozen lake. Then hears everything of the lake once again. There's a man who sits at a bench in between the meadow and the lake. He watches the meadow as he listens to the lake.'" I look at the man and smile sweetly. He then reaches over into his small pouch on his waist and hands something to me.
"Here you go." He hands me a small light with a clip. "May I hear the others?" He asks as we sit in the dark of the night on the bench between the lake and the meadow.
"Fine. 'There's a man who sits on a bench that stands between the lake and meadow. He is wearing a woolen coat this winter. He is wearing a quite old scarf in which the yarn is slowly falling out. He is wearing knitted hat. He is wearing a lovely smile as he rubs his hands together in hope to make the cold disappear for a moment. He is wearing a regular denim jeans and fuzzy boots. There's a man who sits on a bench that is wearing regular jeans, a woolen coat, a scarf that's quite old, and a knitted hat.' Then there's this one. 'There's a man who sits on a bench that is standing in between the lake and the meadow. There's a man with brown hair turning silver. His onyx eyes at beginning to turn gray showing he's going blind. His face is beginning to sag and wrinkle up. His hair not only is turning silver but falling out as well. There's a man who sits on a bench from the beginning of the first sign of winter and tomorrow I'll talk to him.'" I recite with a smile. No one bothers to listen or ask to hear the poems.
"Marvelous, little one." He tells me. "Here. . ." He turns my head. "Now you see don't you?"
"Yes, I do." I whisper when I look at the scene in front of me.
