Bench

There’s something about an empty bench in the middle of a boulevard… Wrought iron legs, weathered wooden seat. Facing north, the traffic ebbs and flows on either side. Made for moments, For the hush, the lull. For the pause between paths when you realize you need to rest for a while and just watch, letting it all pass you by for a time. See what it is… Someone went to a father’s wake today. It’s a young mother’s birthday. Someone’s son is going to court. Another someone lost her job. So many someones… One’s having surgery, One’s christening a baby, One’s bought a vacation condo in Florida. So many someones… So many more I don’t know. Someone’s sitting on the bench. Someone will sleep there later. Someone may even notice. There’s something haunting about an empty bench in the middle of a boulevard… A place for moments, For forgetting and remembering, And sometimes for just letting the moments slip unseen into the ebb and flow of so many someones. 2/11/09