The lone bench in the park has been my constant companion. I have spent hours sitting there just enjoying the peace, the scenery and the activity around me. The kids throwing a Frisbee, the woman walking her dog, the senior couple walking along the path holding hands, and the old man who sits there smiling and greeting all those who pass by him.
It was here in this park that I saw you sitting in a corner . Maybe the fact that you were not a regular here was what had made me notice you, or maybe it was the fact that you were sitting there with a notebook and pen, oblivious of the activity around you, staring at the blank page, that had made me curious.
You kept staring at the blank page. At times you would pick up the pen and hold it above the page but not write anything. At times you would look around in desperation, running a hand through your hair in frustration. It was then that we both noticed the bird sitting across you and staring at you. I saw the smile and a look of tenderness on your face. I could feel the sudden excitement in you. You picked up the pen and started writing furiously. Time and again you would look at the bird and write more. Suddenly, the bird flew. You looked at it flying away in despair. A look of pure desolation on your face.
You picked up your pen once again to write but after just a word or two you stopped. The anguish apparent. Once again the frustration crept back on your face . Finally, you gave up. You closed the notebook, got up and left.
I witnessed the death of inspiration.