The park bench and the lamp post.

Its dark at this hour of the morning, alone, here at my computer with an esspresso, with soft music and just the light of the monitor. Outside of my window the whole City seems quiet, except for the park bench, far beneath me and an old lamp post. The bus route running past that park bench has long been cancelled, but the men still come and keep it nicely painted and the grass around it is kept trimmed. That old street lamp shines a theatrical spot around the bench as darkness tries and fights it, just as two old friends should do. The bench can hold three comfortably if they waited as they would have for the bus and the old lamp post would have shone down to ease thier fears. A long time ago, I used to sit on that bench, my son and I, waiting for his school bus to take him to school and I would sit there for awhile after the bus left to ponder and process my day. I wonder if anyone knew I fell asleep sitting on that park bench at times, in the shade from so many towering Elm trees. I was put to sleep as the gentle shivering of its leaves were set sail on the very winds I dreamt of leaving on. Tonight, that park bench beneath me with its old lamp post has drawn out my thoughts for the last hour, having forgetting the pain. That park bench, with its old lamp post, has sweetened a dream, a friend, sharing a peaceful moment.