The memorial bench, a seat in the mystery of time,
where I can sit, and my heart swell with the beauty
of the place where he sat and contemplated the view.
The mist far out to sea cooled the sultry spring air,
Silent, eyes closed, no wind and somewhere not far
a bud opened, a tiny deflection of air like a butterfly
which has flown past in a soft, floating, rocking flight,
and there, I listened for an insect crawling between the
grasses and bluebells and wondered why it ever was
thus that humans were blind to the beauty of the tiny,
ephemeral life and deaf to the opening of a rambling
rose, their sense of smell missing the coconutty gorse.
Time will hurry on and this seat will rest many a one,
who will miss, like I have, many tiny signs that we’re
not alone, and we share our lives with a myriad things.
Pulsing hearts and gleaming anthers, populated homes
and glorious, awe inspiring flight of birds and bees
and if we knew would we take consider their cares too?