I decided to look out of the window and there I see a van on the side of the road and no one inside. Nearby on a bench there's an old man holding a bouquet of flowers. The wind blows the little threads of hair he has left as he struggles to keep the flowers from breaking off.
What is he doing here all alone, looking at the dried fields and the trees as they sway in the wind? Is he mourning his loved one or simply enjoying the midday breeze in the short life that he has been left with?
Either way, his presence captivates me as I look outside of this room I have locked myself in. It doesn't take much for that person sitting there on the bench to be me in a few years time. Time flies by so quickly.
Can it be that it is only by sitting down with a flower in hand, some thoughts in mind, while looking at the scorched summer fields that we may understand peace and the meaning of all these years we've been living?
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