Got chilled on the ride down. Pulled in here to sit and warm up. Snapped a quick pic and stretched out, looking at the river. I must have been sitting relaxed with my head down.
I hear: "Sweetheart, are you alright?"

I sit up and see there is a small, elderly lady standing at the other bench. She's wearing a gold, puffy, button-up something or other and huge sunglasses.
"Yes, ma'am. I'm fine. Just warming up."

"Do you mind if..."

"No - no. Sit, please."
She sits.

"That's a pretty motorcycle. Maybe I shouldn't call it pretty."

I smile in spite of myself. She has a very slight accent that I don't recognize.
"Pretty is fine. Thank you."

"It's so quiet here. That never changes." She points to the river. "I've been coming here for years. I just turned ninety-eight."

I look at her. "I tell people that, too. That this is one of the few things that remains constant. Everything else..." I shrug.

She nods. "My husband and I used to go out on our boat all the time. It was a wooden boat. Sailboat. It was so pretty. He died about ten years ago."

"I'm sorry."

She waves it away. "He was a good man. Always very good to me. My daughter is..." she looks at me intently. "Sweetheart?"

A hundred scenarios of their life together explode in my head. Time screams through me. I think of so many things at once that it envelopes me like a living thing, and I am now fighting to not lose my shit in front of this perfect, aged, stranger who just opened up her life to me. (And I really don't want to scare her).
I take a deep breath and think of anything else. "It's been a long month," I say. It's all I can think of to explain my behavior.

She nods again. "I have those." A car pulls up next to my bike. "My daughter," she points.
Her daughter is probably late sixties. She walks over to us carrying a black mop with teeth.

"Is she talking you to death?"

I laugh and shake my head. "Nope. Not at all."

"We didn't mean to interrupt," the daughter says.

"You didn't. I was just warming up."

She pulls back a handful of fur from the mop. "This is Onyx," she says. I see two gold eyes amidst the dark fur. The elder lady pets the dog, looking at me. I have no idea what to say at this point. I stand up.

"Better get going. It was nice to meet you."
They both say something at the same time. Not sure what it was. I wave and walk away, putting on my gear. As I sit, I see that the elder lady is still watching me. I crank the bike, drop it into gear, and raise my hand to her. She smiles and raises her hand.
It finally occurs to me that she never told me her name, nor did I tell her mine.