The garden bench was simple planks fixed together and painted forest green. It sat there rain or shine and did exactly what it was supposed to do, raising us up from the ground to see the beauty of the view.
The garden bench was fashioned from a wind-felled tree, the legs being sections of the trunk still clothed in bark and the top was a fine long plank rendered a deep soulful brown by the varnish.
Over the years the garden bench had been every hue a flower can be, and so now, as it made rainbow flakes upon the grass, it had never been more pretty.
The little wooden bench-seat was my place of celebration after each day of gardening. They say that a garden is never done yet always evolving at the hands of its carer, and those few moments of stillness let each tiny evolution sink into my soul.
The garden bench was weathered by each wonderful season given. One could see the accumulation of those blessed years in its layers of varnish.
Keep track of your favorite writers on Descriptionari
We won't spam your account. Set your permissions during sign up or at any time afterward.