When life was moving too quickly and she needed a minute to calm herself and collect her thoughts, she'd always return to that one bench, along the bike trail deep within the woods.
She found winter supported the best visits.
As she lay there, she'd let the cold wash over her. It'd touch her skin and bring her to another place, steal her breath, remove her from her body. She'd float there, above herself, mind vacant, drifting in the frigid breeze.
Nothing mattered to her.
A frosted touch was all she needed to escape.
I think I want to be on her bench!
ReplyDeleteA) You're mother would last 20 seconds on the bench.
ReplyDeleteb) Doing that on a nice bright day or on a bright over cast day is something I like doing. I enjoy the cooler weather over the warmer. That's why we're looking for a place in FLorida. Don't ask.