Bench of Dreams by Joy Margetts I pull back the curtains and breathe in the view again. The wide horizon, clear azure blue skies resting calmly on deep slate blue sea. The lightest of mists shrouds the rows of receding mountains in their ever decreasing layers of blue greyness. Another glorious day, at least from my side of the window glass. The sun feels warm on my face but as I open the window a crack the air is cool. I look at the familiar scene before me. The sea laps on the shore and the seagulls screech and curlews cry plaintively. I can see it - it is still there, on the beach below me, a bench of sorts. It is, I think, what must be the remains of a fallen tree, that the sea has rolled powerfully up the stony incline until a large boulder stopped it in it’s tracks. It has been there for weeks. I suppose the sea will reclaim it at some point, but for now it has become a place where people stop, pause, sit, breathe, and dream.
distance of my window. I watch the dreamers as they sit on the bench of dreams. There is the solitary hunched figure in his grey coat and flat cap. He walks along this stretch of shoreline every day. His is a slow and steady pace. The little brown dog, his much more energetic companion, runs in large circles, barking and chasing the seabirds, but always aware of his master. He comes back every so often to check on the man, and when he sits on the bench, the dog comes and sits beside him leaning against his leg. What is that lone figure dreaming of, I imagine? Is he dreaming of the woman who used to walk at his side for all those years, her smile, her laugh, her hand in his? Is he dreaming of the grandchildren he has not seen for too many long months? Is he dreaming of their hugs and sloppy kisses, I wonder? Perhaps he is dreaming of when he can go to his social club again, or even just to the pub to share a pint and a table with another human being? Is he just dreaming of not being alone anymore? I watch as he fondles his dog, and then rises awkwardly to his feet, swaying slightly as he straightens his aged legs to continue his lonely walk.
Well I imagine they dream. Or at least I dream for them. They must be thinking of something as they sit there, and dreaming is good. Not the nightmares that shock you awake and trembling in the dark of night, but hope- filled dreams sparked by the sound of the sea and the warmth of the sun. So I watch them and enjoy their company from the safe - 19 -
