She sits alone, at a distance,
legs crossed on a wooden bench,
hands at rest on her lap,
alone, quiet and observant,
her surroundings familiar,
faces of strangers seen each day,
walking to and fro without a word,
without a glance or a nod,
feeling invisible in a busy park,
ignored by eyes staring at phones,
hoping for a glance, a smile,
a person to share a seat,
to discuss weather
the scent of Spring in the air.
She knows me as a stranger,
sitting in the distance,
wearing a business suit,
staring at strangers,
eyes hidden behind dark glasses,
sitting center on a bench,
saving a spot for her
with a folded newspaper,
arms stretched wide
across the bench back,
an open invitation to join,
to discuss the weather,
to see her smile,
to hear her voice.
Tomorrow’s another day,
with a stranger at a distance.
As I walk in the wee hours of the morning
I find the simplicity of starting a day’s journey.
There’s a calmness in the atmosphere,
Light breeze, crisp fresh air, and quiet.
The squirrels rustle about for a few nuts,
Birds forage a worm or two for their chicks.
My mind doesn’t wander, it observes
The flower petals open wide absorbing the dew –
The bees pollinating the pistil,
Buzzing away, knowing I’m not a threat –
The bustling ants in and out of their hill,
Fearing a rain could bring their operation to a halt –
The vultures circle the nature preserve
With precision vision on unsuspecting prey –
Fiddler crabs dig out their dens after high tide,
Twice a day, showing no signs of frustration.
My walk is three miles, from start to completion,
Three to four times a week without hesitation.
Robert Stanhope started creative writing during his Junior year of high school. In his twenties, he became a motorsports journalist and was published in a number of local, regional, and national trade publications. Now in his early 40s, Bob has returned to creatively writing, including embarking on his first novel, The Last Lie.