THE PARK BENCH

Photo courtesy Wayne Thiel

Up here,
the sky is menacing,
a cloudbank, dense and dark
when from that bank a light streams forth.

In me it finds its mark,
falls on fall-painted leaves, so soft,
and softens, too, my heart,
and with the stream of light I, too,
fall down into the park.

I’m just one leaf
on one lone tree,
fall to the ground below.

Light, tree and I,
the park bench too,
into one being grow.

I take my pen
and write this down,
the park bench under me.

And passers-by
they smile at me.
The storm has passed us by.