it was the kind of place that:
if I could compile a picture book to thumb through (in my mind’s eye) as I lie waiting to die, I surely, would have included it. for it had, the most lyrical of mountains to soar above, the happiest ever blue sky and twinkling water that lapped in hushing waves. there was even a bench (with room for two) to sit and rest a bit, while I lingered.
and so, I breathed it in – trying my best to commit it to memory.
sitting on that bench, I imagined all the people that I had enjoyed in my life, sauntering down the path that trailed along the edge of the lake where I perched (the sun breeze tickling my face). they waved farewell, fondly, as they ambled by. (for some reason, all the creeps, clowns and downers that had insinuated themselves into my days and provided so many vexations to my spirit, opted not to put in an appearance. then again, at that point – why would they.)
when, at last, I rose to leave, I felt restored. perhaps, it was an illusion … perhaps, all life is. but – for me, anyway – it was the kind of place that makes you want to believe … once more.
note: posted for Poets United.
photo: Another shot of Harrison Lake – W. Bourke
© 2015 Wendy Bourke