Old bikes rusting in the rain
feel like loss.
I double down.
It’s everywhere this heaviness.
The empty pockets.
Handlebars twisted and cast down.
It’s going nowhere now and I want to rescue it.
The two chairs arrive and fill my heart.
My eyes stop on them.
They are buoyant.
Offering space up.
Empty isn’t always emptiness.
Or if it is,
it’s not always loss.
There’s no despair here.
At least not at the moment.
Two chairs under a tree but not covered by leaves.
What will the two who take to those chairs do?
Pass tissue to or from as one tears up?
Will I be one half of the pair who watches a horse or cat or cloud go by?
These are the scenes that fill me back up when nothing else can and the world feels dangerous, hopeless and lost.
Proof of a simple world.
Moments for company.
Life as it is usually lived.
Will be lived again.
Like a Tuesday.
Author: Christine “Cissy” White
Editor: Toby Israel