He felt a tingle on his cheek, where the wisp of wind touched aging skin. Breathing in deep smells of fresh cut grass and blooming roses, life wasn’t all that bad. He rubbed his thighs with his hands to stem the slight ache of walking that accompanied him everywhere nowadays. Oh how he remembered the days where he could walk for hours on end without tiring. Aging wasn’t the struggle people made it out to be. You just had to pace yourself a little more. Sitting here on this bench in the park, under the budding branches of the birch trees was true bliss.

Next to him sat a young man, visibly exhausted. Not in a physical way, that made you catch your breath, but emotionally. The deep rims under his eyes spoke of hard times. The boy didn’t speak, or even acknowledged that he shared the bench, but he didn’t need to. Benches were made for two people, so two people sat on it side by side. He was curious about the life the young man lived. Whether he enjoyed the youth that was only given to him briefly. Did he go to school or had he found a job early in life? Maybe the boy didn’t have a job, a home even. Could the lad be homeless? That would explain the periwinkle stained bags under his eyes and his frail posture. Must be hard not having a safe place to sleep, having to struggle each day for food and water. Maybe he wasn’t homeless. He could’ve recently be confronted by the many other ills life throws at you. A break up or the death of someone close. He had forgotten that despite being contend with life at the end of it, it hadn’t always been this way. He too had known tough times. The visible strain on ones face wasn’t unfamiliar.

Maybe there was something he could do to lift the weight of struggle ever so slightly for this downtrodden youth. He took in the panorama of a park at early spring. Wind making trees wave at one another. Birds chirping and hopping from one spot to the other. People walking their dogs and talking to each other.

There! Under that old sturdy oak tree. A cart with wafts of smoke rising. The smell of freshly grilled sausages lifted by the currents of air until it reached his aging nose. He could hear the growling that betrayed the hunger of the human being next to him. He must have smelled the same smells. Oh how he remembered the torturous feeling of an empty stomach betrayed by scents without sustenance. He slowly raised his protesting body from the bench, his popping joints betraying his age to the world. If the young man next to him had noticed, he kept that fact to himself as he kept his eyes staring to whatever was in front of him.

He had reached the cart and found himself lucky with the absence of a queue. With clear and precise language he ordered two sausages on a bun and dropped the coins as payment in the salesman's hand. With both hands occupied he slowly made his way back to the bench, feet slightly scuffing over the path he walked.

Arriving at the bench sitting down was trickier than usual. Keeping his balance took more effort now that his muscles strained ever more. With slightly more force than anticipated he sat his aching body down on the creaking planks. Catching a few audibly breaths he took the bun in his right hand and put it out in front of the young man. The boy tilted his head and met his eyes. He nodded and the fellow grabbed the sausage bun with both hands and fervent eager.

On a quiet noon in early spring two men sat next to each other sharing food on a park bench under budding birch trees. Not a word was spoken, but within the silence a friendship bloomed out of compassion and gratitude between young and old.