There Should’ve Been a Bench

 

There Should’ve Been a Bench

There should’ve been a bench

right there under the tree;

empty, yes, but never abandoned.

A place that holds its breath

the way the swamp always did

When I was young enough

to think silence was just silence.

The light slips through the branches

like it knows the way,

soft as a hand on a shoulder.

The tree leans in, listening.

The horizon waits without hurry.

Nothing moves,

yet something is always stirring

just beneath the stillness.

This isn’t a picture of absence.

It’s expectancy—

the quiet kind

that doesn’t announce itself

but settles in your chest

and stays.

Maybe someone once sat there

long enough to learn

what the world never teaches

when it’s loud.

Or maybe someone’s on their way,

drawn by the hush,

the shade,

the invitation to simply be.

The bench would wait without demand.

The tree would offer its cool shadow

without asking anything back.

Time would loosen its grip—

not to punish,

but to prepare.

That’s what the swamp meant to me:

the in‑between moments,

the breath before the prayer,

the silence before the reply,

the space where you finally hear

what your own heart’s been trying to say.

This painting whispers,

Stay a while. Be blessed.

wcd