Sunday, November 30, 2014

The bench...

There's a bench. Even though it's surrounded by beautiful things, it's isolated. Sometimes it gets visitors. Sometimes they sit just for a moment and are grateful to have the support. Sometimes they linger a long while and reflect. Sometimes they bring others and make the bench really feel like a part of something. But eventually, they all leave. They only stay a short while and then they have to go.

If I had to be a bench, I'd want to be one that was created with love and gusto, with soft comfortable cushions, and placed in the yard where it was an integral part of the design. The heart of the garden. I'd want that because I'd always have purpose, I'd always be part of something bigger, I'd never feel neglected, and even when there wasn't someone near, I'd know they'd come back home to me each night, cozy up to me, and I'd have meaning again.

I couldn't be a bench out on a long pathway that sat empty and alone for most of its life, just waiting and hoping for some companionship, if only for a moment in time, watching as people pass by. To me, that's a lonely bench. And to me, lonely is devastating.

Ya. I'd want to be the bench in the heart of the garden.

Jules :Oc


The Grunt said...

I like the use of a bench as a metaphor for the individual. I'd like to be a bench where judgment is made. Oh, to feel so righteous, feared and superior!

I get it though, and I've been a bit of a vine covered bench lately--good for taking pictures of and not sitting on.

Jules said...

Well Grunty, at least your bench is not full of thorns, so it's still approachable, and people could still figure out a way to sit on it :)

SIMON said...

Nice post Jules!

Jules said...

Thank you, Si. Funny how we feel things at different times in our lives.