An Empty Seat

Earlier this morning a woman sat on the seat watching her dog play in the stream. The bird song tickled her ears and the freshly cut grass filled her nostrils.

The previous day an aged man wandered past the seat thinking about his life as a widower and his absent children who lived abroad. His life had been reduced to an existence punctuated by occasional walks in the park.

The previous month a school girl and her mother sat silently on the seat, dressed in black and recovering from the funeral service they had just attended. They held hands while they fought tears for a lost father and husband.

The previous year a collection of youths dressed in hoodies sat on the back of the seat smoking grass and listening to obscenities from a mobile device as the sun set and darkness fell. One of their friends had just committed suicide over the futility of his life.

Ten years ago a plaque was placed on the seat in remembrance of the death of a solider who gave his life to the pursuit of nationalistic dominance. He died in pain and alone.

Thirty years ago a mother and father sat on the seat with their newborn child watching the stream flow by and reflecting on their happiness. Their child would be killed by war after only two decades of life.

Tomorrow the seat will be torn up and destroyed. It will join all those lives which have flowed by in the stream of time.

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