It was a simple structure of weathered wood and cast iron, half-buried under a pristine drift of snow. No one had sat there since the storm began; its surface was a perfect, undisturbed sheet of white. It looked incredibly lonely, a forgotten punctuation mark in an empty sentence.
Ahead, the familiar outlines of the ancient oak trees began to dissolve into the dense fog. Their dark, gnarled branches stretched upward like arthritic fingers, clawing at the mist that swallowed them. The fog was a living thing today, rolling in slow, silent waves across the open meadow, obscuring the path ahead and erasing the world behind. Wallpaper Snow, Lonely Bench, Trees, Foggy Park
For a long moment, he just stood there, looking at the bench. He felt a strange kinship with it. In a city of millions, he often felt just as isolated, a static object while the world moved and blurred around him. It was a simple structure of weathered wood