It’s a basic bench, wooden, hand crafted, not something manufactured by an outdoor furniture company and installed by the Department of Public Works or Parks and Rec. No, this is something simpler and softer, more humble with well-worn rounded edges and flaking paint.
It’s homey, designed by someone who knows well what it feels like getting halfway up Texas Street walking home up that steep grade, right where you need to take a break and catch your breath, that’s why that bench was made. So, I took a seat and took in the view, down the hill into downtown San Francisco. Bright blue sky, crisp air and sunshine, skyline of high-rises, old and new.
It’s quiet up here above the bay but for the persistent hum of the freeway in the distance on the other side of Petrero Hill. I wonder who made this bench, and when? There’s no signature, no date, no notation, no plaque honoring a loved one, a friend, a hero. I like that! It’s enough just knowing someone, one day, cared so much to think of it, then make it, and place it, right here, for all of us!
Double entendre, or is there triple?
Good one Ricardo!