Ode to a Perfectly Placed Bench to Enjoy Nature (day 1775)

About my way
A merry one I should say
I wondered to myself:
My dear sweet man
What have you done,
You’ve gone and walked yourself out.
So there I was
A bit confused
Wondering what I could do
To rest my weary legs a while
To recoup my troubled mind.
And all at once
You appeared to me
Like some magic: unleashed
And set free,
Which I took as queue
And found my rest
Upon your well worn stead.

a bench in Fort George Park in Prince George, BC

Bare Hands (day 998)

When my sun rises over East
I sit at my bench and wait
And whisper to my gods in prayer
To bring me all their rain
So that I can find the strength
To hold my head high again
And if my bare hands I shake
That worked the earth for seven long days
Should hold in them a crying shame
Then it shall be for me, forever rain
To wipe away these falling tears
Before my sun sets again
From my bench I sit and wait

Orwell (day 356)

Today I do roam where Orwell has roamed
I sit upon a bench he did use
Perhaps with a breath
And a length of my hair
I shall hope to hear what he says
For then, in the end
With the hopes of my wind
I could find myself content
In his shoes
But had I not found
The peace he once did feel
Then I too would fall in a heap
So pretend for a while
As I am at this hour
That I sit in a place
He once sat