She had all these ideas in her head, but every time she tried to write them down they fled like small birds. Pressing her head against the trunk of the tree, she looked up at the chilly February sky. She had hoped that being outside and freezing her bottom off would have removed all the distractions, but the notebook resting on her knees was still empty.
Rubbing her numb fingers, she gripped the pen and wrote a to do list for tomorrow. It’s still writing, she thought, even if it’s not a story. Finishing, she then turned the page and looked around. The park was windswept and no one in their right mind was hanging around this evening.
She spotted an old bent over man walking a small dog. She watched him rounding a bench then heading away. Her mind turned and she wondered about him. What was his life like? What did his past hold? She tapped the page then taking a deep breath just began writing.
The old man could feel the wind biting at his bones. He huddled in his coat and tried to urge the small dog trailing behind him on. Shuffling to the bench, the old man looked with half blind eyes at the plaque nailed to the wood. He couldn’t read it, but he knew by heart the name and date etched into the metal. He let out a deep puff, but secretly inside he uttered a prayer. Tugging the dog on, he headed for the park’s exist and to the memories of what once had been.