Here’s a photo of a bench in a creek along a trail in Tennessee. It is made of sticks and held together with screws. The right armrest is missing, and part of the supports. Someone made it by hand; it doesn’t look like it was bought online or in an outdoor furniture store. A person put it here in this creek, where water trickles and breezes shesssh tree leaves. Did the maker tire of homemade bench decor in her house? Did she move it here because it is broken? Maybe it once graced an old camp cabin, whose occupants moved away or died, leaving cleaning-out duties to others. Perhaps it was made by a young person, one who has moved on to other things in life. Maybe somebody just couldn’t bear to just destroy it, because of what, or who, it reminded him of.
It was a melancholy scene for fall. Time passes, seasons change, and things break down. If this bench was ever a useful bench, it is now a piece of useful sculpture, echoing inevitable footsteps of change.
©Rita Venable 2011