It’s not a bench, like a heavy park bench, it’s more a loveseat or settee, setting abandoned atop a rocky cliff high above a beach at the end of a dirt road. It sits where you’d expect there’d be a park bench, placed by a city or good friends for someone special who’s no longer here, a lasting declaration of love and appreciation for a shining star.
No, this is an abandoned wicker settee, whimsically painted in horizontal stripes, the top purple, the middle lime green, the bottom a deep turquoise, the spindly legs white. It’s ratty and worn, likely passed along from one young family to the next until a few strands of wicker have cracked, some have snapped, a few frayed and dangling loose. It long ago lost its cushions and its integrity. Now, it sits, forlorn, facing the horizon, watching wave after wave roll in, a light breeze occasionally making its loose ends vibrate but no breeze strong enough to dislodge it, no one daring enough to take a seat. It just looks too frail, like an old man marking time. So, there it sits, quietly taking it all in, the sun warming its arms and legs, moist marine air swirling around its back, its once bold stripes fading further and further into a muted palette of pastels. Its colors will soon be unrecognizable and it already lacks the sturdiness to serve its intended purpose. So, there it sits, enjoying the view, for however much longer it exists.
Lovely!
That last part is how I feel some days😎