On a warm spring day, far from the center of the city, in the park by the lake, stood a bench. It was an old wooden bench, with metal stands and siderails, but was in good conditioin, and would have made the diety of park benches proud, if there was such a thing.

On this particular bench sat two people. They had been there for some time, and would be there for some time again. On this warm spring day they had nothing in particular to do, and so sat in companionable silence.

One of the pair, a woman with mismatched shoes and an air of solemnity and grace, glanced at her companion. For a long moment it seemed she might say something, perhaps an observance of the fine weather, or a comment on the children playing in the field nearby. But she did not, and the moment passed.

Her companion, a man of middle age, yet who carried a cane and had a limp that spoke of trauma when he walked, also turned slightly, his gaze lurking near the woman. He too seemed about to communicate, a query about her life, or to volunteer an opinion on some topic. But he too, after an anxious moment, stayed silent.

And so it went, for hours more, the woman and the man quietly sitting together. The children of the fields went on their way, young couples walked the paths, and workers returning home made their way through the park. Then, later, the sun settled down below the horizon, the sky lit crimson, then darkness. Stars made themselves abruptly known, and around them the park lights came on one by one.

When it was fully dark, the woman rose, extending her hand to the man. He took it, and she helped him to his feet. Then he took up his cane, and together they walked home.