The Quiet Bench

In the middle of a gray, chilly afternoon, I wandered through a nearly empty park, the skeletal trees stretching skyward like quiet sentinels. I found an old bench overlooking a pond, its surface rippled by the icy wind. Sitting down, I pulled my scarf tighter and let the cold air sharpen my senses.

A man approached and sat beside me, his heavy coat and fur-lined hat giving him the look of someone accustomed to the season’s chill. “This is the best time to visit,” he said, gazing at the pond. “No distractions, just the quiet rhythm of winter.”

He turned to me, his expression thoughtful. “It’s in these still moments that we truly connect with the here and now,” he said. “Winter strips everything down to its essence. It’s a chance for the heart-mind to find its own quiet.”

His words felt like the frost in the air—crisp, clear, and undeniable. Together, we sat in silence, letting the winter stillness settle into our hearts.