The Orange Bench

There are many benches in the park, a multitude of multicolored places to rest and while away the time.

I know the location of each, even the ones hidden from the casual stroller using the park as a short cut from one side of town to the other.

I don't know if I've sat on every bench in the park probably not.

When the idea was mooted that we should paint the benches last spring I was in favour of painting them all green so they would blend into the landscape.  The general consensus was that they should be brightly coloured to encourage people to use them and so, like oversized butterflies resting for a moment, they add vivid splashes of colour to the green.

Orange is possibly my least favorite colour, conversely, the orange bench is my favourite place to sit in the park. 

I set aside my dislike of the colour in favour of its position.  A little off the main track, under the towering horse chestnuts where grape hyacynths, primroses and purple crocus cluster around the base of the trees in the Spring, it sits on the edge of a path opposite the small maze carved into a different pattern each year in the grass.

Other than the odd occasion, (only once that I can recall) I sit on the bench on my own only interrupted by Gus dropping a stick at my feet for me to throw.

I wonder who else sits on 'my' bench when I'm not there? 

It's often empty. 

Too far away for the mothers or fathers to watch the children in the play area. 

Too far away from the main field for the dog walkers to watch their charges. 

Not part of the main walkway where the shoppers may rest a while as they traverse the park with heavy bags.

I like to think it may, in reality, be just my bench.

I wonder what a time lapse camera would capture if it focused on that bench a while?

Me perhaps ...  Lost in thought, mindlessly picking at the loose flakes of paint, possibly subconciously thinking that eventually I will manage to remove all of the orange and return the bench to its natural wood.

Gus laying a stick by my feet before backing off slightly and looking at me hopefully before returning to pick up the stick and drop it a little closer each time and eventually placing it in my lap barking loudly to jolt me out of my daydreams.

Maybe it would capture many hours of nothingness, just the odd leaf tumbling from the tree or the occasional passerby.

Maybe when I'm not there the orange bench doesn't exist at all ...