I must have watched the old guy for 20 minutes, maybe more. All he did was sit at that table with his coffee and stare out the window.

I couldn’t understand it. How can someone just sit for extended periods of time and do nothing but stare at something? Or nothing?

I studied him for another 10 or 15 minutes. Every so often, he sipped the coffee, so I knew he was alive. He never looked at the coffee. He continued to stare out the window at… what?

Not being an old man who simply sits and stares, I shifted my gaze out the window to see if I could figure out what so intrigued the old man. Traffic. A flashing billboard. Billboards without flash. Store signs.

I couldn’t see a single thing worth staring at.

I kept looking. And wondered why do old men spend so much time staring?

Growing up, I watched my dad sit on the front porch and stare at the cars that drove by. He never showed interest in the cars, but he watched them pass anyway.

Or he studied the field of the farm across the road. If the neighbor was working the field, Dad’s eyes followed the tractor. Otherwise, he’d just stare at… what?

I thought maybe he was contemplating ways to save the world, or at least how to scratch up enough money to buy me a new bicycle. I asked Dad if this was so.

“Nope,” he said. “I’m just watching the hay grow.”

When my wife was alive, she loved to scour thrift stores. She could spend hours that felt like days or weeks going through every rack and checking every shelf in the thrift store.

I’d amble over to the furniture section, settle into a comfy chair and survey the store. Mostly, I watched shoppers. None in particular. I just stared — I mean, looked — straight ahead, focusing on, say, a rack of jeans or a shelf of shoes.

As shoppers crossed my field of focus, I found it interesting to notice what was in their carts.

Why would she, or anyone, choose those old dishes? For target practice? Why would he bother with that circular saw? Couldn’t he see that the cord was falling apart? Or did he notice the electrical tape the next aisle over?

From there, my thoughts wandered. I’d stare…, er, gaze at the same spot but no longer saw anything in particular. I was lost in meditation.

What is it with old men and staring? What are they looking at?

Drop by any construction site. You won’t see just carpenters swinging hammers or masons slopping mortar, you will see old men standing just off the site, staring, as if they hope to be asked for advice.

Hop on a backhoe and you cannot get more than a half-dozen scoops dug out of the ground before you have attracted six or seven old men who stand and stare. Maybe they’re hoping that the tractor will break down so that they can fix it. Or perhaps they aim to consult with the other old men on how machinery isn’t made to last like it used to.

Maybe the geezers have nothing better to do than stare.

I thought about all that as my attention drifted back to the old man at the table across the way. I watched him stare. And wondered what he saw.

The old man broke his stare. He turned toward me. And glared. “What are you staring at, buster?”

“Huh? Who, me? At nothing, really.”

I heard him mumble into his coffee cup, “Can’t stand old men who sit and stare. Oughta charge admission. Ain’t that got anything better to do?”

Nope. I’m just watching the hay grow.

Stare at nothing in particular with Cole at burton.w.cole@gmail.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.