A bench beckons the weary traveler to sit.
Alone, apart---solitary resting.
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.
8/11/2022 03:59:46 am
Benches have an inviting kind of magic and rest, and this poem captures it wonderfully.
Nancy S Wakeley
8/11/2022 08:02:05 am
Thank you Esther!
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Debut novel Heirloom published July 14, 2020!