A bench beckons the weary traveler to sit.
Alone, apart---solitary resting. Two--intimate, whispering. Always looking out. Never looking back. Wood, stone, curved and rough-hewn like a hurried need. To know there is a place for rest. A place of one’s own. A place for anyone. Snow covered, petal covered, sun covered, leaf covered. A year of saying, I am here. Welcome. Sit. Be at peace. Look out over what the world is. A view of God’s handiwork. A blue lake, a snow covered mountain, a rocky river soft with ripples. Sit and rest as the sun rises, as the sun sets. Along the path, there is always a bench. Waiting for the weary traveler.
2 Comments
Esther
8/11/2022 03:59:46 am
Benches have an inviting kind of magic and rest, and this poem captures it wonderfully.
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Nancy S Wakeley
8/11/2022 08:02:05 am
Thank you Esther!
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