Sink into Today

Old bikes rusting in the rain
feel like loss.
Seats tilted,
chains off.

It’s everywhere this heaviness.
The news.
The cold.
Handlebars twisted and cast down.
It’s going nowhere now
and I want to rescue it and bring it back to glory.
I can’t.

Two chairs arrive and fill my heart.
My eyes stop on them.
They are buoyant.
Open.
Offering space up.

Empty isn’t always emptiness.
Or if it is,
it’s not always a loss.

There’s no despair here.
No abandonment.
At least not at the moment.

Two chairs will wait.
Used.
Strong.
Welcoming.

Who two will take these seats and when?
Will they hold hands?
Talk?
Eat?
Argue?
Cry?
Hug?

Will I get my turn in that chair in some future year?
Will I rest or observe or stay put?

I imagine an ordinary sunny day.
Simple scenes of sunshine, warmth, and colorful towels.
These thoughts fill me back up when the world feels dangerous, hopeless, and lost, when the world feels cold, ill, and troubled.

Proof of a simple world.
Memories of a happy time.
Plans for ordinary joy like a breeze,
the splash of water,
an ice cream cone.

Chairs.
Sitting.
Moments with a cherished companion.

Consistent.
Beautiful.
Life as it is sometimes lived,
and will live again.

Returning, like a weekday,
like a Tuesday,
like this very day.