This is a special bench for it conjures those we long to have one last conversation with. I saw a beloved sister sitting there, who has been a missing person now for half of my life. If you close your eyes you will hear the intimacy in our tone, the soft hum of our conversation- just audible above the wind. As the wind blows it weaves our long hair together; strands of wheat color and dark honey. When my eye sought out this bench it knew that it was seeing a portal to the other world. There are moments when we brush up against the past so closely, that for a lingering moment, we belong to it again. Then, like a transparent butterfly moving to a new flower- we fly up and on. Joy and sorrow is always in the same breath.
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