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A Moment at the Park

I visit the park nearly every morning. Before I must face the tasks of the day. Some mornings I'll take a pen to my sketchpad, while other mornings I'll find myself lost in someone else's words. Each morning I rise at the crack of dawn. I get up, I get dressed, and before I know it, I'm thrown, once again, into the hustle and bustle of life. It takes 30 minutes to walk to the city square. I walk it in 20 minutes flat. When I arrive I proceed, like clockwork, to my favorite coffee shop. Today is no different than yesterday and tomorrow will be no different than today, I presume. I order a cappuccino and scurry out the door. I can't even manage a single sip. I arrive at the park and reside to my bench. The one in perfect view of the sun. I sit down and release a long sigh of relief. I then dig my teeth in to a succulent Granny Smith. Hardly anyone is around. Perfect. My eyes shift from the emptiness around me and the cityscape comes into view. What's the difference? Birds chirping, open windows, strangely subdued. Good morning. A man approaches, and I've snapped out of mindlessness. His smile blinding at first glance. His hair white as fallen snow. I confusedly smile at his apparent delight. He draws closer. I watch. His words foreign, but light. He motions for my hand. I give in and surrender it. His departure is tender. His lips pressed to my hand. This man is a mystery to me. But no more a mystery than most I know. I smile inside for this confirms a certain certainty. That there's delight in life no matter where it leads.

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