He sat down at one of the park benches, placed his sack lunch at his side, folded his hands in his lap, and watched the life around him. He watched a man who seemed utterly content to jog around the park at the fastest pace possible until all of this blew over. He noticed how his face seemed free of stress, no pain at what surely he knew. Maybe running does actually relieve stress, he mused. He saw the birds above him, the common pigeons, blue jays, a few sparrows, and he could hear the calls of still yet other birds in the distance, unseen. A crow swooped in gracefully out of the sky and snatched a piece of bread crumb from a gathering of pigeons at the feet of an elderly woman. The crow, now triumphant in his conquest, spread his wings, looked directly at the woman, stood to his full height and crowed for more; which the woman gave him. The man was amazed as he watched the woman bend over and with a bread crumb between her fingertips, feed the crow from hand to mouth. The woman talked to the bird as if he was an old friend, the crow seemed to listen as if the woman were some sort of surrogate mother. Of course the man had seen the woman every day, while he was eating his lunch in the park, but he had never made the connection. Now, the realization engulfed him, a dawning of awareness. This woman had no family to call her own, perhaps had children who had forgotten her or looked upon her with shame, she was alone. And yet she had found acceptance and solace among feather children. They demanded nothing from her other than what she was willing to offer, and she would have given them everything if they had asked, because they were hers, they were close, they were there to hear from her, to speak with her in their own way. They were a caste unto themselves. The woman was not homeless, unless she was a well dressed and well made up woman of the streets, so she obviously did this all by choice, therapy possibly, prescribed by her and for her.

The man turned from the woman after watching the crow land on her shoulder, and call out to the other birds at their feet, as if he was directing which birds would be blessed with a gift of bread crumbs first.

The man looked up slowly, taking in all he could see, watched the clouds move languidly across the skin of the sky, shafts of sun light being swallowed slowly by the cloud cover, the west promised more rain and darkness, the east promised another day, a sureness of tomorrow; but was the guarantee fraught with holes?

He opened his sack lunch, taking out the banana and peeled it. He ate it slowly, savoring it, as if a condemned man having his last meal. He sat the peel on the bench next to him, intending to use the bag as a trash bag on the way to the office, but he was no longer thinking of what the next 18 minutes promised, he didn't realize that he wasn't going to be able to place his bag in the trash.

His thoughts turned to his wife and daughter, wondering what they were doing, wishing he could be with them. He thought that his wife would take them on a walk on the beach, along with their black lab. He thought about that dog now, so much like the one he had as a small child, 'Moe' was his name. He shook his head quickly, brought out of his thoughtful remembrances, dispelling that particular memory. He took a bite from his turkey sandwich, savoring the taste of the mayonnaise and the bread. The clouds cleared away from above him, giving him a clear view of what was above his head.