She’s not frightening, she’s in pain, that’s all. She’s just a woman alone. Like me, really

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goose plump and content waddles on the path. I know she is there though I don’t look to see. I just follow the path to the bench my bench by now. I sit down and assume my regular position: head in hands staring out at the gray-green pond.

There are a lot of swans today. The pond looks fuller for their rippled reflections are clear in the water in the bright splotches where the shy spring sun cracks its way through the clouds of winter. But I don’t see the sun’s likeness in the water. I notice only that the whiteness of the swan’s feathers is marred by the gray soot of the city.

I see gray everywhere now. Brown sometimes. And black. But I suppose that’s because I’m looking down.

Why should I look up? I can’t look up now that Davey is with his dad shut out of my life.

It’s after three now. The time when we’d have a delicious half-hour slice of day all to ourselves. Davey and I.

He bounds toward me and squeezes my skirt into a hug. His little hand finds mine and he — we — practically skip all the way home from preschool. After a while Davey’s Mickey Mouse bag gets heavy and he hands it to me. I wear it then backpack style. I’m that kind of mom. When I’m with Davey I don’t care if a goofy-looking character stares out at the world from my back.

Davey wants to walk by the pond. “Mommy can I race the ducks?”

“Sure Davey boy.”

My little boy giggles as he charges after the ducks and geese. He circles around the bench to avoid the bird-woman. He is scared of her he says even if the birds love her.

I look over at the woman now — she’s all checkered shawl and big-soled boots. Pigeons perch on the bench on her shoulder and one even pecks at her palm.