Our bench sits by the pecked, pebble tree that stands proud on a clover path. It overlooks damp, emerald sheets where schools of small, silver images float and rest. It captures our laughter, dancing among rippled waves.
Our bench is where plates of pizza rest on our laps as the aroma of garlic is captured in the breeze. Where flocks of auburn, feathered ducks waddle down the cement path and charcoal geese bob and hiss around our knees.
Our spot is where the waters reflect tints of pink from the evening sky. Dreams encircle your mind as your head, swept by my fingers, lay on my lap. Mallards flutter above the tips of trees and take off into a V-formation in the distance.