It’s quite windy for a summer day in June, Mr. Benjamin Brown thought to himself as he walked through the park that afternoon. It’s not normal for it to be this windy, especially in June.

Mr. Brown clutched his bowler hat and looked up at the clear blue sky searching for rain clouds, but there were none.

How very odd.

With a huff, Mr. Brown continued to walk his normal route around the Leaves of Green Park — despite the wind that insisted on trying to snatch his precious bowler.

Mr. Brown was an old man who enjoyed walking in the park at exactly three in the afternoon every day. Even though the young people went about exercising barely clothed, Mr. Brown insisted on walking in his three-piece tweed suit and polished black leather shoes.

Afternoon walks were Mr. Brown’s favorite time of the day.

No one nagged him or yelled at him.

Hardly anyone even looked at him.

It was the only time of day when Mr. Brown felt any semblance of peace —and Mr. Brown was not experiencing much peace at home.

His wife was constantly angry with him for this or that. Seemed he couldn’t even sneeze in his own house without a snide comment from his wife, Eliza.

He sighed.

Things hadn’t always been strained between the two of them. Life had been utter bliss when they were first married. Back in those days the two of them were practically inseparable. It used to be the two of them walking in the park together, hand in hand. In fact, Mrs. Brown was the person who insisted they take these afternoon walks in the first place.

But Mr. Brown hadn’t minded, he adored walking with his Eliza. When they had their son Charlie, things went from bliss to pure heaven. Instead of two in the park, it was now three.

Then Charlie grew up and went to college. It was painful to see him go, but they all knew it was bound to happen someday. A bird does have to leave the nest at some point. Mr. and Mrs. Brown anticipated their retirement together where they could finally go on the trips they had planned for so long. But as always happens, just when all seemed perfectly rosy, tragedy struck.

As Mr. Brown walked by the small pond in the park, he remembered the times he and Charlie would make small wooden boats together and sail them in that very pond.

Those were cherished memories now for Mr. Brown . . . Charlie was a precious memory.

There were no more happy times now. The times of pure heaven had long since passed. Now there was nothing but anger and resentment in the space where love once resided.

When the wind began to howl and moan louder than before, Mr. Brown became exasperated.

“The one time,” Mr. Brown mumbled. “The only time I can get peace and the wind has to go and ruin it.”

And so, clutching his precious bowler, Mr. Brown continued trudging through his beloved park, trying desperately to evade the fast approaching memories that always seemed to plague him.