Our Hands
An old man, probably some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the park bench. He didn’t move, just sat with his head down staring at his hands. When I sat down beside him he didn’t acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered if he was okay. Finally, not really wanting to disturb him but wanting to check on him at the same time, I asked him if he was all right. He raised his head and looked at me and smiled. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you for asking,” he said in a clear strong voice. “I didn’t...