Lunch Break

I saw an old woman sitting on a bench in the park crying. The tears traced the multitude of webbed wrinkles on her face, trailing down into the fanned white collar of her blue crinoline dress. A bag of bird seed sat under her hand, but she made no move to share it with the multitude of birds pecking the ground for leftovers around her. She made no sound with her tears, just quietly wept while people passed her without a second glance. I wondered why she was crying, what her life was like, and how many times she'd sat on that bench before I noticed her. I began to speculate on her tears, but it was probably none of my business, so I left it alone and returned to my sandwich to let her cry in peace.