At the edge of the woods was a simple bench, a weathered oak plank nailed to two locust posts half-buried in the ground amid clumps of yellow violets. It was one of five benches scattered along this path; Sam had made them as a birthday present for Elizabeth years ago, dubbing them the "stations of the walk." (from Signs in the Blood, p.136.)
Like so many things in Elizabeth's world, the stations of the walk have their reality in mine. My husband built them almost thirty years ago and only one remains -- the rest have rotted away. So, for the big birthday just past, I asked him to make me some new benches.
They're in place now, made of treated wood that should last much longer. The ground around them is raw but I'll go out tomorrow in this blissful spring-like weather and transplant some daffodils into the soft dirt -- and later in the year, I'll put the yellow violets back where Elizabeth would look for them.
The last bench is called Walk's End. It overlooks a little hidden dell. There are wild apple trees and beautiful long views with no buildings at all in sight.It's a magical place -- made more magical by having a bench to mark it.
No comments:
Post a Comment