A cool, crisp breeze galloped its way through the urban park, like a phantom stallion let loose upon a countryside range.  Autumn leaves of marmalade, and strawberries, and gold bustled this way and that, jerked about on strings by some celestial puppeteer, who must have found a certain degree of delight in their syncopated dance.  For just an instant, a vortex of colors seemed to whirl itself together into existence before it dissipated again.  With a sudden jolt, the blind man awoke to complete and utter darkness.

He sported a long, smoky gray coat, which could easily serve as a makeshift blanket come nightfall.  His short, trim beard, which was also gray, seemed to jut proudly from his black chin, and it appropriately complemented the hue of his balding pate.  Oddly enough, his hair was long and crinkly, as if he were a mad scientist conducting numerous experiments on static electricity.  A pair of overly large and black sunglasses mysteriously veiled his eyes, as he stretched and yawned from his previous nap.

After doing so, he hungrily rummaged about his bench, while mumbling to himself, for his sole cane, which was crooked and knotty, though it was inexplicably crowned with a fine piece of conchoidal obsidian, which glimmered like a smooth, pale amethyst.  It was undoubtedly the most valuable item he had about him, though its beauty was likely lost upon its owner.

Another sudden gust shook the nearby red Japanese maples as if they were maracas.  Some of their seeds pinwheeled to the ground in a happy twirl, until their mirth was severed as, one by one, they dissolved into the emerald grass.  The old, blind man was not sure if the trees or his knees groaned more as a third wave fell upon the center of the park.

With conviction, Paki Herren pounded the soft earth with his cane three times, and laced his ebony fingers over the apex of his royal purple obsidian mountain, majesty.  He leaned upon his walking stick while still sitting, looking the perfect caricature of a man lost in deep reverie, his legs firmly planted on either side of him and his chin upon his interwoven fingers.

As previously noted, he sat upon a park bench, which was splintery and white, and was etched with names inscribed within jagged hearts.  Next to the bench, and to the man’s left, lay his hat, which still lay in the grass, temporarily forgotten.  It was a little peculiar, however, as it was a puckered black bowler, adorned with fishing tackle of all sorts: flies with frilly orange feathers, Heddon lures, South Bend bait, minnows camouflaged with double hooks, casting weights and metals, snippets of fishing line tied into Palomar knots, and Trilene knots, and Snell knots, red and white bobbers and buoys… everything a fisherman could want, save the rod itself, on one article of clothing.

All of a sudden, Paki’s ears perked up to a noise echoing from the distance, somewhere off to his right.  He quickly discerned that a woman was approaching on the winding cement sidewalk in the park, wearing high-heeled shoes.  He imagined that this lady was probably about twenty-five years of age, new on the job, and either very angry or very satisfied, considering her rapid, short strides.  He envisioned her wearing a scarlet red dress that hugged her hips, with matching shoes and lipstick glossed upon ample lips, and bouncing black coils of hair, and creamy, butterscotch skin.  She might even be wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, planted across a delicate nose, if only to make her appear classy or intelligent.  As she neared, he heard the unmistakable sound of loose change jangling merrily in a pocket, or the bottom of a purse slung over her shoulder, or a fanny pack.  Without giving his actions much thought, Paki Herren reached for his sea-weathered hat, and nervously rotated it between his callous hands, while allowing his cane to be crutched on the bench.

Paki hated to ask people for money, but after years of being rejected from various jobs and colleges, he concluded that there was nothing else much to do.  He had no family that he knew of.  After reassuring himself that he would make something of himself sometime soon, he waited for the right moment to pounce.

“S’cuse me ma’am,” he ventured, with a deep, gravelly voice, as if he had swallowed an especially prickly pin cushion while suffering from strep throat, “could ya’ spare an ol’, blin’, black man some change?”

The woman abruptly stopped, clearly rather taken aback by this sudden change in her everyday routine.  She had passed through this park hundreds of times, and not once had she ever encountered this poor man asking for pittance.  She certainly hoped this would be the first and last time she saw him, as she plainly couldn’t care less about what would happen to him tomorrow, or the day after.  Though she strongly disagreed with giving strangers money (as it just encouraged them to continue with their moral debasing, most likely for booze), she somehow felt this was a different case entirely.  Not to be bamboozled, of course, she made a few wild motions with her hands to assure the man was blind.  Unfortunately satisfied, she scrunched up her face in impatience as she dug through her purse, and scoured the bottom of it from all of her loose pennies, nickels, and dimes.  With considerable disdain, she dropped it into Paki’s bowler, and as if she hadn’t missed a beat, clasped her purse together and began walking once more, with her nose high in the air.

Before she could take but a few steps, that gravelly voice called out to her again, weak and strong simultaneously.  “Tell me ma’am, b’fore you go walkin’ way now… what’s de wetter like, t’day?”

And he said this in such a pitiful manner, with such utter sadness, with such a longing in his voice to know, that the woman couldn’t help but stop once more.  Yes, of course… this was a blind man, after all, who was probably simply trying to start a friendly conversation for which she didn’t have time.

The woman felt as if there must be at least a couple thousand pounds of steel in her heels, and that there must be a dreadfully large magnet under the path, as she could not humanly bring herself to inch away.  Though she fleetingly considered walking off as if she had merely misheard the wind, her heart had indeed plummeted to the bottom of her body, which explained the mighty weight in her feet.  “Please, ma’am, ya’ can’t know what it’s like t’ve not seen a sight’n yeers.  T’only see nothin’.”

Oh, that voice!  This man was acting as if he was being brutally directed to a guillotine, and he was now giving one final request for mercy!  She closed her eyes, gave a soft, serene sigh, and collected her thoughts, while scanning the view around the park.  Her voice was musical, and pleasant to hear, wind chimes plinking in the wind.  Her breath soft, wintergreen mints.  A light wind blustered about them.

“Well,” she began slowly, “the sun is hanging high overhead, like a peach from a tree, ripe for plucking.  And… the sky’s blue, like a robin’s egg.  And as far as the weather is concerned…”  She looked about her once more.  “There isn’t a cloud in the sky, so I don’t see rain in our future… but there is a rainbow, no wait… a double rainbow, shimmering in the distance.”  After further speculation, she added, “it’s really quite something.”

This of course pleased Paki to no end, since very few people ever talked to him as it was.  Though it did seem a bit chilly for the sun to be out, he had probably situated himself on a bench that was under a tree, so that he received the shade, and was thus fairly cool.  With a smile that crinkled his entire face into a perfect picture of benevolence, he thanked the woman with all of his heart, and listened to her walk away, both happily satisfied.

Ah, how long it was since I could see a rainbow!, thought Paki.  Though he hadn’t beheld any colors for years, he could almost envision the stunning blue sky in his mind.  It felt like trying to pick up water with the side of a butter knife, though, and was ultimately futile.  He could hear past memories of vision calling in his thoughts, forever lost.  With a contented sigh, he slowly eased his body back into a comfortable position, while setting his peculiar hat on his lap, and assuring his cane was still propped on the bench.

Before long, the old man finally heard another soul approaching his spot in the park.  This person was quite different from the woman, however, as this one seemed to be thundering towards him.  From experience, Paki knew this to mean that this person had some sort of wheels, whether they were on a bicycle, skateboard, roller blades, or baby stroller.  After a few more seconds, he decided that it must be a skateboard.

As he always did, Paki tried to visualize what this new arrival would look like.  He figured that it was probably a young, pale man, about the age of 17.  He was probably wrapped up in black clothes, and chains, and melancholy.  Short, bleached hair, mascaraed eyes, one earful of earrings, heavy, black boots.  A ‘Goth’, as he heard kids like them were called.

Though Paki didn’t much like the idea of asking an apathetic child for money, spare change was still spare change, no matter how one looked at it.  He pawed his hat nervously, waiting for the skateboard to roll along close enough so that he could talk with its owner.

“Ah, s’cuse me young man,” Paki mentally groped, with his scratchy, sonorous voice, “would you happen to have any spare change for an ol’, blin’, black man?”  He thrust out his hat pitifully; perhaps the boy would drop in some change while he was still gliding by.

At first, Paki thought the skateboarder would indeed simply roll away, and without leaving anything behind, at that.  But the rumbling of wheels ended abruptly, and the board lethargically flew into the Goth’s reticulated hands. Clomp, clomp.  The Goth’s feet made impact with the ground.  

An awkward silence followed.  The wind sang in the trees.

“Ah, well…” mumbled the old man, not sure what direction to head.  “You see…I, uh…”  Paki was rather stumped.  He should never have invited this one.  “I s’pose I don’t really need, de change, I guess…”  He mentally slapped himself.  “But perhaps you could tell an me what de wetter’s like…?”

After a time, a gloom seemed to pour into Paki like a pitcher of water into a glass.  Though he was sure the Goth would not do anything to harm him, or attempt to mug him, he found himself grasping his cane tightly, without even having noticed it prior.  Though Paki was blind, he could still sense the hatred and lassitude oozing from the young man just three feet away.

Paki direly wished the Goth would simply get back upon his skateboard and go away, even if it meant he got no more change that day.  But just as the tension reached its highest point, it was broken by a soulless, calm voice.

“The weather.  It’s cloudy.  Everywhere.”

The skateboard dropped to the ground, and the Goth began to step on.  But Paki was rather confused, and before he could stop himself, he asked, “Clouds?  You sure?”

The young man gave a dramatic sigh, as if about to lecture a baby on how to help the economy by endowing money in the stock market.  “Clouds.  Those gray things in the sky.”  Though he could have stopped there, the Goth gave an even more grievous sigh, and put it into the best terms he could think of, however grudgingly.  “I think they’re cumulonimbus, because they’re covering the whole sky, and are gray.  I expect we’ll be having rain before long.  Perhaps you ought to go indoors before you get caught in it.”  

Paki simply nodded, as if to do just that.  He forced himself to ease the grip on his cane, and to set his hat beside him, thinking.  As the Goth rolled away, the jingling of coins clinked upon the change the woman had given him earlier.  While still in his state of confusion, Paki forget to bless the young man for his good investment.

Well, the old man thought, that was odd.  It was obvious that one of the two people he had talked to had lied to him, but he could not really say which.  Both had sounded sincere enough.  The woman’s statement did seem erroneous, as it was somewhat cold and windy out, while the Goth’s version of the weather seemed much more likely, and was probably right, however much it seemed to go against his instincts on whom to believe.

So he sat contemplating his dilemma.  He ran his hand over his almost Egyptian beard, then mopped his forehead with a tissue he produced from one of his coat pockets.  This was certainly nothing get worked up about, but it was disturbing that somebody would lie to a blind man who couldn’t know better.

Though he should probably walk somewhere to find something to eat, Paki could not bring himself to get off the bench.  The matter bothered him so much that he was determined to sit there until another person walked along, and he could ask them, once and for all, what the weather was like.

And it did not take long.  After another five minutes of waiting and putting up with sporadic bursts of wind, another person began to approach his bench.

With his keen ears, Paki could determine that his next visitor was almost definitely male.  From what he could tell, he was being approached by a pair of black steel-toed dress shoes, so that the man might possibly be a lawyer or paralegal.  The man seemed a bit on the portly side, and was likely wearing a gray tweed or pastel pinstripe suit.  Sandy brown hair, with a pathetic comb-over, and over-magnifying spectacles.  Watery eyes, short neck, red face.  Suitcase in hand.  His stride was long and quick, so he was probably in a hurry, or rather angry.

“Ah, now s’cuse me, sir,” said Paki, at just the right moment, “would you be so kind as to tell me de wetter?”  He didn’t even bother to ask for change… for some reason, this seemed to be a more pressing matter.

“The weather… hell,” grumbled the man.  He stopped in  the middle of the path, deciding whether to continue walking or to stop and tell the old fool the weather.  After a seconds glance, he saw that the old man was blind, and so gave an exasperated growl.  Now he had to tell him the weather, like it or not.  He scanned the sky, and gave Paki a more thorough examination, stammering with his feet.  After mumbling to himself for a good while, and damning this thing and damning that thing, his smooth, oily lawyer’s voice finally answered the question.

“I can’t tell what the weather’s like any more than you, old man.  There’s so much damn smog in this town that you can hardly see your own hand in front of your face.”  He gave an irritated groan.  “I expect there’re clouds, though, just can’t see ‘em.  Damn buildings towering over the whole skyline, can’t see nothing in this town.”

And the shoes clacked away furiously, before Paki could understand the full meaning of the man’s comments.

Now, this really was odd.  What were the chances of getting three different outtakes of the weather from three different people, in the same fifteen minutes?  Who was he to believe?  How could people so easily lie to an old, blind man?

Well, one of them is right, Paki concluded.  He had no way of guessing which one, however.

With adrenaline circulating through his body, Paki felt like walking about and doing at least something.  Sitting here wasn’t getting much done, and he now a riddle to solve.  He emptied the change from his bowler into one of his hands, and slipped it into a hidden pocket in the lining of his coat.  He pulled the hat over his head, and twisted it to its normal position.  He grabbed his cane topped with purple obsidian between his knotty fingers, and forced himself to stand up.

After taking in a final breath, he made slow progress along the cement path, while tapping it in rote with his walking stick, to feel any obstacles that might otherwise trip him or cause him to lose his footing.  He weakly held his left hand before him, lest he bump into a person he could not otherwise sense.  The wind plumed up his jacket like a balloon before scattering off again.  Leaves licked at his heels.

And as he was walking, he heard footsteps… no, a pair of footsteps, strolling towards him quite leisurely.  He stopped to be sure, and affirmed that they belonged to a young couple, probably hand in hand, likely discussing their workdays.  Paki smiled despite of himself, as he had long forgotten the feeling of young love.

Though he direly wanted to ask them what the weather was like, he decided against it, thinking it more proper to allow the two to express themselves to each other, rather than talk to a silly old fool in the park.  They walked around him as though he weren’t there, while the man cooed at the woman, and the woman giggled abashedly.  It seemed impolite to listen to their discussion, but Paki figured it was impossible not to.

“… such a cute little nose…” the woman giggled as he pinched her.  “And such beautiful eyes, d’ya know that?  Like stars in the sky!”  And the two stopped.  “It’s a nice night for stargazing in fact.”  The woman hummed in agreement.  “And there’s such a perfect view from the park… not a cloud in sight…”