Morning Walk. See. Feel. But still can’t sit.

~ Live & Learn

186 Days.
You know the drill.
Consecutive days.
5 miles from Home to Cove Island Park and back. Sort of.

Last week, on a bitter cold and wet morning, and pressed for time, I jumped in the car, and drove to the park. To keep the streak alive.

Heater blowing on my feet. Wind gusts and rain battering the car. And there I was, sheltered and toasty. Protected from all that God could throw at me that morning. Not sure why God was on my mind, but C.S. Lewis called it: “We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.“

And so here we are. This morning. 186 consecutive days. I’m migrating, with the birds. But instead of Southward bound, it’s a downward spiral on the Sedentary Bus.

It was Running (for years).

Then Walking for less than a year.

Now Sitting. Just can’t get it going.

I drive to the Park. I take one slow walk around the loop. And make my way to the Point.

Sunrise is at 6:30 a.m. It’s 6:13 a.m.

I’m restless. (Permanent Condition). 17 min to sun up. What to do? What to do?

I notice a bench a few yards in front of me. I can feel tension, in my bones, in the flesh, in my mind —  it flashes No. I think back to Morning Walk. See, But Can’t Sit. Man, you have all sorts of problems. Just sit on it.

I approach the bench. There is a copper plate affixed In Memoriam…

I hadn’t ever noticed.

I scan the area. Bench here. Bench there. Benches everywhere. I never noticed.

I walk by each reading the inscriptions. I find myself drawn in. I walk slowly from one to the next.

  1. In Loving Memory. Vita & Gus. Andover – Where the Weeping Willow Stood.
  2. In Loving Memory. “DeeDee”. Wife, Mother, Sister. Grandmother. A friend to all she met. 1946-2016.
  3. In Loving Memory. Bob. Husband, Dad, Papa, Brother, Uncle, Cousin, Friend. 1942-2019.
  4. In Loving Memory. Dominick and Mary. 2011.
  5. In Memory of Debbie. 1976-2008., Love You Forever…
  6. In Memory of Joseph. 1913-2004.
  7. In Loving Memory of Peter. 1947-2011. A man who actively enjoyed all seasons of life at Cove Island Park.
  8. In Loving Memory. “Bim”. 1928-2014.
  9. In Loving Memory of Raymond. 1932-2007. Raymond’s roots ran deep. Deeply loved. Loved deeply.
  10. Beloved Grandson. Christopher. 1996-2014.
  11. Inhale the Beauty. Joan and Bill.
  12. In Loving Memory of Edwin & Margaret.
  13. Mary Pauline. 1943-2015. In our hearts forever. Your loving husband and family.
  14. In Loving Memory of Joseph. “Fish On.”
  15. In Loving Memory of Connie. September 1998
  16. Diane. 1946-2014. My Wife – My Love – My Companion in Life. I Miss You. Gordon.
  17. John. 1950-2017. Devoted Husband, loving father
  18. In Loving Memory of Melvin. He brought so much joy to so many.
  19. Louise’s Bench. (No dates. Just Louise’s Bench)
  20. In Loving Memory of Timothy and Grace.
  21. Our Sweet Angel. Maria. You lifted our spirts with Love, Laughter, Music and Dance. 1973-2015.
  22. Raymond. 1943-2018. The best things in life are the ones you love.
  23. In loving memory of Joseph “Little Joe”. Known for his love of family friends, Harleys, Corvettes and sunny days at the beach, Remember me, when you look into the seas…and there I’ll be. 1948-2015
  24. In Loving Memory of Jennifer. Your beautiful smile remains forever in our hearts

I look at my watch, it’s 6:29, a minute from sunrise. I walk to the last bench.  The gulls are now quiet, they too wait for the Sun in our moment of silence.

I’m reading the last, Bench #25…I brush my fingers over the metal plate. Over the letters making up soft, and then the letters breeze, and then gentle and tide and kind and heart. And then my index finger skips over the letters making up Love always…

I brush away a tear, and then another…

Soft is the breeze, gentle is the tide, kind is the heart…

Notes:

  • Photo: DK, Daybreak. 6:35 am. November 7, 2020. Cove Island Park. Stamford, CT.
  • Post inspired by Rachel Carson from The Sense of Wonder. “It is not half so important to know as to feel. If facts are the seeds that later produce knowledge and wisdom, then the emotions and the impressions of the senses are the fertile soil in which the seeds must grow.”

56 thoughts on “Morning Walk. See. Feel. But still can’t sit.”

  2. Thank you very much.
    When I became a young widow at 52- somehow I came across your blog. I have treasured all your posts and have read several of the books you quote from; this post today has touched me deeply.

    Sorrow is a common thread all humans experience and thanks for sharing these benches that I wish I could sit on and say a prayer to my celestial loved ones.
    They certainly make profound toasts and I shall share the toast to Mattthew tonight as I raise my glass among treasured friends
    Thank you

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  5. Oh, DK…Pardon my unsolicited two cents. I would gently challenge your interpretation of downward spiral. You are migrating to seeing and feeling on a much deeper level and if it is a spiral, it is taking you from restlessness to calm and consolation. Thanks for sharing this journey. I feel better for the chance to sit with you. MA

    >

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  6. We have a park with many similar benches…it’s known as church park…I rarely see humans sitting on them…I read them too and acknowledge they crossed the river…appreciated this post 🙏 we had some stellar sunrises this week…I love the time right after dark…sending you joy 💫 hedy

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  11. I love how the Universe works. Here you are wondering how you can stop for a minute. She understands you, so she has given you a way to slow down to an almost stop. A lingering almost stop. Next, she’ll find a way to actually get you to sit. For more than the time it takes to snap the perfect pic (which have been spectacular)

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  17. I’m so glad I read this today instead of yesterday – my heart was on a swing and I couldn’t slow its momentum. How loved these people are; how appropriate that you should meet them on a day which you approached with a certain characteristic self-effacement-that-borders-on-the-punitive. How perfect a moment to capture the senses and give yourself permission not to sit.

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  20. Sometimes the weight of the world is very much on one’s shoulders. Seems you discovered the very balm for your spirit, David. By the way – what a beautiful photo! The violet shades in the water are so complemetary to the sky. Yee-haw!

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  21. Oh Dear David! Just saw this post (Friday the 13th!) and appreciate how you are leading us to feel the inordinate grief in a shared and bearable way. We all need this more as we’re learning how dire the pandemic has been and is now increasing exponentially. Our capacity for empathy must increase if we’re to find wholeness midst this devastation. Tears! tears mean the heart is opening and yearns for more expression. My heart goes out to the young widows who shared, to you for your younger brother, to young 31 year old Timothy Matthews and beautiful Bobby Greer, the son of my roommate from college who has a bench overlooking a beautiful field.

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