I shuffled slowly through Peckham Park toward the largest pond.  Actually, I “wuffled”—my name for that wobbly locomotion when my balance often falters.  Just more proof I’m old.

It was an early mid-summer morning already indecisive.  Sun to the east, grey clouds rolling in from the west.  And a temp in the low 60s struggling to be comfortable.  But the park was virtually empty.  I liked that.

And having that lovely, silent pond to myself.  Willow trees are soundless.  So are turtles dozing on flat rocks and ducks gliding through still water.  Only the spraying fountain out in the middle sounded off, musically.

There was a single bench.   “Mine,” I muttered needlessly.  I sat, splayed my legs outwardly, and sighed.

I dozed for awhile.  A voice roused me.  Female.

“May I share your bench?”

I looked up at a small-faced woman with white hair pulled back into a tidy bun.  Brown eyes peered at me through black-rimmed glasses.

“Sure,” I mumbled and pulled in my legs.

We sat mute awhile.  But I was discomfited by her presence.  I rose to leave.

“I disturbed you,” she said, her lips upturned in a half smile.  “I’m the Johnny-come-lately.  I’ll leave.”

I laughed.  “Haven’t heard that expression in a blue moon.”

“Nor I that one in . . . some time.”  Her smile grew into a nice one.

I sat again.

“You have a nice laugh,” she said.  “Like bird song.”

“Yeah, like a crow.  Caw.  Caw.”

“No, that’s bird speak like that duck over there.”  She pointed.  “Quack.  No, your laugh is like the song of a linnet.”

“A what?”

“A linnet.  Small bird, like a wren or finch.  I heard several in the English countryside.  They always made me smile.”

I looked at her, maybe a bit too long.   “Looks to me you have no trouble smiling.”

“I don’t . . . usually.”

“Hmmm . . .”  I let my gaze stray to the fountain.

She said nothing for maybe a whole minute.  Then, “I like fountains too.  They’re cheery.”`

“You like turtles?”

“Yes.  They’re gentle quiet creatures.”

“Yep, like me.”

She cocked her head toward me, still smiling.  “That a hint you want to be alone?”

I grinned.  “No, just giving you a little . . . backstory.”

She looked me up and down, then laughed.  “You’re flirting with me.”

My eyes did the same to her.  “You’re nice lookin’.  Can’t help myself.”

She stopped laughing and smiled.  Her eyes glittered.  “Thank you.  It’s been ages since a man told me that.”

I nodded at the gold band on her finger.  “Widow?”

Though she smiled while nodding, tears lurked in her eyes.

I stuck out my hand.  “I’m Reg, an old coot never married.”

She shook it.  “Clara, a grandmother.”

I rose.  “How ‘bout having breakfast with me?  There’s a new coffee place five, maybe six blocks away.  You game to foot it?”

Her smile became candescent.  “I’d love to.”

I wobbled a step or two away from the bench and waited.  She rose, swept wrinkles from her skirt, and grasped my right hand.

“You mind?” she asked.  “I—I need a little support.”

I grinned.  “Me, too.”