Musings on A Park Bench

Though I can hardly call this place "my town" since I've only lived here a little over a year, it sometimes allows me to see its beauty beneath the stale ugliness. It is fall and everything is dying. Yet, it is more beautiful then anything I have ever witnessed. How strange that this moment of lucidness would lead me to bask in the sun as dead bits of nature say their last good-bye to their host and "fall" to the ground when the wind blows. The clock strikes as warmth of the sun numbs the slight sting of the wind. Noises beyond my perch threaten to penetrate my bubble of rare bliss. Yet my small smile never falters. As if were death to come suddenly I would welcome it. For to die in such a state would be a great honor. And with such a content smile on my face, probably a prettier way to die too.

I remember....

I remember someone once told me that every time a leaf floats close by you it means that someone is thinking of you. From my place on this bench I have seen many leaves float by me. And I remember as a child during the fall season I had a very naive and slightly conceited habit. As a leaf would float by I would name the leaves after people I knew were thinking about me and smile happily. I thought I was special that way. I now realize that , in a way, I really was because each name I called was sort of like making a wish. While most people had shooting stars to wish on, I had dead leaves.

And now I sit here and do as I did many years ago. This time with a more wistful and knowledgeable tune. And as I indulge myself with such nostalgic tendencies I cant help but remember that conceited, lonely, and naive little girl sitting on a swing bench under a big tree. Her wild hair tango-ing with the wind as she stretched out her brown sugar arms in an attempt to catch the leaves that floated in front of her and her giggle echoing through the empty streets. What on earth happened to her?