The old man sat on the bench. He wore a long brown overcoat to protect him from the cold evening. His head hung from his neck as if asleep, and on top of his head rested an old brown faded hat. His hands were in his coat pocket, protecting himself from the cold. People walked about, some stared at this odd man, while children stopped by to take an intensive look at him. Yet he seemed asleep.
Then he lifted his head up. His face was wrinkled and furrowed with his skin stretched thin, exposing his old age. A thick carpet of white grizzly beard covered his face, which he now dug his fingers into and scratched his cheek. He put his hand back in the pocket and felt a hard block. He removed the object out to see, it was a bun he had got in the morning. It had become hard and dry. He considered what to do with it. His teeth were not strong anymore; trying to chew on this hardened piece of bread would only hurt his gums. Using both his hands he split the bun in half. While one half went into his pocket, the other was being broken into pieces and thrown on the ground.
In front of where he sat there was no such open area for feeding pigeons. Instead there was a stone path on which people continuously trampled. Some ignored the senile old man who threw bread crumbs on their path, while some huffed and sighed with annoyance, but none bothered to tell him anything, and all just trampled on the crumbs.
Surprisingly, a grayish blue pigeon with its beady eyes flew down and began pecking the ground, nibbling at the crumbs. A child who was walking with her parents, on seeing the pigeon caught her fancy as she stretched out her arms and ran to it. The pigeon responded by lifting itself up and gliding in the air avoiding the child. And the bread crumbs trampled underneath the child’s feet as she trotted by, imitating a gliding bird.
Once the child passed by the pigeon fluttered back down. And so like an aeroplane the child glided around to disturb the pigeon once again, and the pigeon once again flew up to avoid her and fluttered back down to peck the crumbs. The child turned to pass by again, but the steady hand of her father on her shoulder made her take pause and so she passed by without gliding again.
The cold evening gave way to a chilly night. The pigeon was no longer there. Black darkness had fallen in the park, except for a few far off street lights. There was no sign of life in the park, except for this old man. The second half of the bun was in his hand now and his fingers were in the process of picking that apart and throwing the crumbs on the ground.
This time there was no pigeon that arrived to eat for it was late. After a quarter of an hour, the bun was no more in his hands, and the path in front of him was dotted with bread crumbs.
He put his hands in his pocket, feeling the chilliness of the night set in. He twisted his body to the right, by lifting his legs. Now he was lying down on the bench. He pulled out his hand from his pocket, removed his hat and placed it on his face as he closed his eyes and prepared to get some sleep.
The crumbs were lying on the ground. No feet trampled them as no human being was in the park. No pigeon came to feast on the crumbs since night was not dinner time for them.
Yet a new group arrived and attacked the crumbs. A group of trailing ants stumbled on to the field of crumbs. Soon enough, an army of ants was transporting the crumbs back to their lair and by morning even the tiniest bit of bread crumb would have vanished.
Then he lifted his head up. His face was wrinkled and furrowed with his skin stretched thin, exposing his old age. A thick carpet of white grizzly beard covered his face, which he now dug his fingers into and scratched his cheek. He put his hand back in the pocket and felt a hard block. He removed the object out to see, it was a bun he had got in the morning. It had become hard and dry. He considered what to do with it. His teeth were not strong anymore; trying to chew on this hardened piece of bread would only hurt his gums. Using both his hands he split the bun in half. While one half went into his pocket, the other was being broken into pieces and thrown on the ground.
In front of where he sat there was no such open area for feeding pigeons. Instead there was a stone path on which people continuously trampled. Some ignored the senile old man who threw bread crumbs on their path, while some huffed and sighed with annoyance, but none bothered to tell him anything, and all just trampled on the crumbs.
Surprisingly, a grayish blue pigeon with its beady eyes flew down and began pecking the ground, nibbling at the crumbs. A child who was walking with her parents, on seeing the pigeon caught her fancy as she stretched out her arms and ran to it. The pigeon responded by lifting itself up and gliding in the air avoiding the child. And the bread crumbs trampled underneath the child’s feet as she trotted by, imitating a gliding bird.
Once the child passed by the pigeon fluttered back down. And so like an aeroplane the child glided around to disturb the pigeon once again, and the pigeon once again flew up to avoid her and fluttered back down to peck the crumbs. The child turned to pass by again, but the steady hand of her father on her shoulder made her take pause and so she passed by without gliding again.
The cold evening gave way to a chilly night. The pigeon was no longer there. Black darkness had fallen in the park, except for a few far off street lights. There was no sign of life in the park, except for this old man. The second half of the bun was in his hand now and his fingers were in the process of picking that apart and throwing the crumbs on the ground.
This time there was no pigeon that arrived to eat for it was late. After a quarter of an hour, the bun was no more in his hands, and the path in front of him was dotted with bread crumbs.
He put his hands in his pocket, feeling the chilliness of the night set in. He twisted his body to the right, by lifting his legs. Now he was lying down on the bench. He pulled out his hand from his pocket, removed his hat and placed it on his face as he closed his eyes and prepared to get some sleep.
The crumbs were lying on the ground. No feet trampled them as no human being was in the park. No pigeon came to feast on the crumbs since night was not dinner time for them.
Yet a new group arrived and attacked the crumbs. A group of trailing ants stumbled on to the field of crumbs. Soon enough, an army of ants was transporting the crumbs back to their lair and by morning even the tiniest bit of bread crumb would have vanished.
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