A Bench in Summer

Late afternoon with shadows changing
As the sun by degrees lowers its angle.
I emerge from the path through a briar tangle.
Squirrels chattering, insects flying, birds singing.

It brings pleasure to take a summer walk.
The park is redolent and verdant green,
Close to a new leaves, plants alive and keen
To grow and seed. A breeze freshens then begins to balk.

There is a bench convenient and placed.
Weathered wood from change of seasons,
It is silent. It has its reasons.
One of which is the direction it is faced.

On the hill, looking out over the lake,
Under the spotted shadows of trees
Allowing one to fully enjoy the breeze.
This is a good bench, special, one I'd like to take.

I sit, relaxing, the verity of nature all around.
Glad for the bench maker, glad for his sense
To tend to his business, to accurately place this bench.
I think of the seasons, now that summer has hit the ground.

The seasons pass faster the older I am.
Summer lasted for ever before the coming of fall
Winter and spring were eternities, I recall.
But now pass by quickly, like a door slammed.

As I sit on this bench, enjoying the view,
The trees reflect late sparkling sun,
The children laughing, playing, always on the run.
The sun producing a kaleidoscope hue.

I know I can't stay here, darkness will fall.
Woodpeckers hammer, the song birds sing.
Oars splash the surface, producing in the water visible rings.
In gratitude for this bench and its maker, I hear the call.

Deep from within a voice says to me,
Although you must leave, this bench to abandon.
Away from your rest and this holy session.
You'll keep this day, a lesson learned. To be.