I sit upon this wooden bench, so still

The Autumn air is crisp and chill.

The Leaves drift down in hues of flames,

A fleeting dance, no two the same.

I rest on

The stiff wooden bench

With a view of the lake.

I scroll on my phone,

Oblivious.

I then look to the heavens,

But see little there,

Just endless ribbons of cloud

Strung over blue.

She runs down the path to the lake by her old school. 

Every day she comes there, for one reason. 

To see something. 

A bench...it stands by the lake. 

Serene and frail.