That autumn morning, as usual, Henry woke up early, had his oatmeal before washing his face, and walked to the park to feed his birds. Today a woman sat on his bench.
“Nice to see I have some company today.” The woman sat like a broken statue. Only her hands continued to knit the scarf that covered her thin legs.
“My wife use to knit too. She…” He pointed to his chest. “She made this sweater, you know?” The noise of the needles was the only response Henry got.
“I come here every morning to feed my birds… My birds…” he chuckled. I call them my birds ‘cause I take care of ‘em.”
The woman sighed, pulled up her glasses, laid her hands on her lap and stared at the scarf.
“You know, talking helps keep us warm. Moving our mouth is like exercise.” He paused. “But it’s the words that really warm us on the inside.”
He smiled and rubbed his large, dry hands together. Suddenly, the woman covered her ears and squinted at the line of trees in front of her.
“You remind me of my husband,” she said. Her words shot out like ice cubes. “I hated him.”