Wherever there is wide open space, there is a bench, as if thinking and clearing one’s mind requires wide open space, surrounded by openness to reflect the vastness, the spaciousness that exists within. Wherever there is a bench, there is a place where you leave labels behind, where you can be everything you were meant to be. It need not be quiet, or still, just open onto the clear, big and natural.
We had our first date on a bench next to the cold Atlantic Ocean shore, and he proposed on that very same bench. And now we have a few on our daily walks and a special bench in from of our kitchen window. A space that follows, to rest, to be a witness to another or your own life and be part of another’s story. Stay on this bench for a while and leave when you need.
-
In the dust
A story of being seen and believing in yourself The crisp morning air sounds full and muted with waking birds. My body still from sleep and my mind aware of the waking world through our bedroom’s open window. The chirps and calls of birds, a car on the main road in the distance and the voluminous flow of the tides paint a spherical picture in my mind’s eye. The birdsong, soft and slow at first in time with the easing of deep blue to dawn, loudest and quickest at the fullest glow of orange morning light and then becoming still…
-
The colours in your story
A story of love, passion and finding purpose My eyes flood with darkness, I wake before the 5:30am alarm beats the first tune of every morning. The upbeat melody does not wake my husband, still breathing deeply. I rise onto my slippered feet, snooze the alarm and open the shutter louvers. The steady brightening of sunrise usually wakes him. I lift the handle and push open the bedroom window. Stillness, bathed in cylindrical columns of the orange glow of streetlamps pool on the black tar road in perfect circles, distantly narrowing to the blue grey Hottentots Holland mountain. Dawn dissolves…
The bench that built us 