I’m sitting on a bench under live oak trees after a meditative walk on a trail past marsh creeks and through the gardens where ancient camellias produce the most magnificent white red, and pink flowers in late winter. I have been photographing them for many years, and each flower seems different to me, radiantly new and uniquely beautiful as it faces away from sunlight, backlit by beams of late afternoon light.
It’s very quiet and peaceful. I hear a couple of tree frogs and a few birds calling to each other; othewise, all is still. My seat on the bench overlooks a lagoon and its reflection of oak trees. This has long been a favorite destination of mine, a get-away place in the midst of the city, a sanctuary whre time and history converge in a place of timeless beauty. I’m always mindful that this is the site of the first settlement in South Carolina, Charles Towne, dating back to 1670.
Time seems to stand still as I resume walking, making my way along the path, covered and shaded by more huge live oaks.
There are several places with benches to stop and sit awhile. I have my favorites where I can rest and ponder things for the brief time I am there.
Sometimes I can even resist pulling out my phone with its camera for long moments at a time, lost in the stillness of Nature and it’s pure and familiar sound and melodies from the wind in the trees, or maybe just calm breezes stirring the leaves.
Over at the bench next to the tidal creek where the first 17th century trading ketches landed in the early years of the English settlement, there is almost always a strong sea breeze over the marshes, cooling and refreshing as I pause and look out to the Ashley River in the distance.
As I sit here by myself, as usual, the thought occurs to me that if I live to be a very old man, older by years than I am now, I will be doing the same thing, sitting on just such a bench, maybe even this same one If I am still in good enough condition to walk here.
It also occurs to me, as I think about these things, that I have been doing this all my life, since I was a young man, bicycling off by myself to lie in the grass and daydream. Sitting on benches along the Mississippi River levee at Audubon Park in New Orleans, or at Waterfront Park, 35 years later in Charleston.
When I am walking at the county Nature preserve quite a bit farther out in the country than where I am now, a place just as near and dear to my heart, I have a couple of familiar benches there also where I always sit when I take a break from my walking. I like to pause and think, often about nothing in particular.
At times, however, specific events in my life pass before my eyes. If they are disturbing I try to shake them off and think instead about the hawks and egrets overhead, and savor a cool breeze off the water in the wetland rice fields.
During my bench sitting over the years, I have been at least momentarily able to halt the frenetic pace of life and just be numb, blank, or contemplative, depending on my mood.
There will perhaps come a day when I will not grab these moments of bench time so easily. I will pause to consider whether I want to make the effort. The attempts to exercise walk vigorously are increasingly difficult to complete. Just a few years ago these concerns were off the radar, not remotely troubling as they are now. More so than in the past, weather on any given day is a huge factor. In summer here it is unbearably miserable walking outdoors at any time of day except around sunset or early evening.
Maybe some day I will perch my chin on my hand as it rests on a walking cane and stare at an afternoon park scene where kids will be throwing frisbees and footballs, chasing after their dogs, playing in the fountain and enjoying the endless spectable of what we call “youth.” Couples will be walking hand in hand, lovers will lie in the grass, families will march along the promenade. I will sit there on my bench, taking it all in, feeling the solitude within, but no longer wanting to judge or question myself for always being alone. As now, it will be what it is and nothing more.
The Seat of Contemplation
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