I went down to Spruce Street Harbor Park the other day. It’s not officially open yet, but you can still sit outside and enjoy the sun and water. I’m listening to a Tim Ferriss podcast and catching some pocket monsters, while enjoying my muffin and coffee. There aren’t many other people around as it’s still a bit chilly, but about 15 feet in front of me there’s an older man, a little unkept, in a blue parka and jeans. He’s sitting next to a fountain that’s still dry from the winter, facing towards the water. It doesn’t look like he’s focused on anything in particular, just lost in thought. His bike is propped up by its kickstand, right in front of him.

I’m focused on my muffin and pokemon catching, and don’t really pay much attention to him. I suddenly notice he’s up and walking back to his seat. The grassy spot he’s just left is covered in birds. He apparently crumbled up some kind of bread and spread it around, and the birds are all over it. There are sparrows and songbirds everywhere.

About a minute after he’s sat back down and noticed me looking back up at the birds and enjoying their flurry of activity, he starts talking to me. I pull my headphones out so I can follow what he’s saying.

“…if I don’t tear up the rolls they don’t eat it. They just look at me, but they don’t eat it. They’re really hungry because I haven’t feed them in a few days.”

He’s kind of shouting at me, as if to cover the distance. It’s not aggressive, more like he wants to make sure I can hear him, so he can tell me about the birds. We’re both focusing on the birds, only looking at each other on occasion.

“Sometimes I come out here and I forget the rolls. And they just look at me, and say ‘Uncle Harry, where’s the food?’”

I smile and laugh, both at the birds’ expectation of food and his use of “Uncle” Harry.

He keeps talking, his words rolling back over themselves as he tells me how he comes out and feeds them regularly. He tells me they don’t eat if he’s not there (though I’m not quite sure if that’s true…). He goes on, describing how the sparrows will swoop down so quickly you barely notice them. The other birds are just hanging out there on the ground, pulling the bread into bite-size pieces.

“There used to be doves”, he tells me. He points up at the sky. “Did you see those two hawks?”

I tell him I did not.

“I think they ate the doves. I don’t see them around here anymore, not since the hawks showed up.” I try to think back, to remember if I know whether hawks prey on doves. I don’t know, but my inclination is they don’t, and the doves just didn’t want to be around the hawks. Or they found somewhere else to be. I don’t say this.

He tells me again that he thinks the hawks ate the doves, because he doesn’t see them here anymore. He tells me again that he has to break up the rolls or the birds won’t eat them. The bread will just sit there. He then shifts to the squirrels.

“There used to be squirrels here too. I haven’t seen them in a couple of years. One of them would sit right here next to me, while I watched the birds. If I forgot the bread, they would all just look at me.”

I laugh. “They have you trained!”

“Haha! I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s true.” He laughs at himself. He tells me again that the doves and the squirrels are gone.

The squirrels seem like more likely hawk food, but again I don’t share this.

A couple of the birds get in a little squabble, and after some screeching one of them flies off.

Our conversation slowly dies off, as we both return to our own thoughts. Mine travel along the path that I should buy some extra bread and feed birds every once in awhile. I’m completely relaxed with a little smile on my face as I watch the birds picking at the bread. It’s a nice way to let your thoughts wander.