A Park Bench

There is a park near our house, though in truth it isn't much of a park at all. The drought has turned the grass to dirt brown, and in other places there never was any grass to begin with and so what looks like dirt-brown grass is actually dirt and pebbles. The park is crowded with trees -- imagine a football field sprinkled with concrete pillars. While the scattered trees greatly limit your ability to toss around a frizbee, they provide much needed shade from the Texas sun [it's supposed to be 109 degrees this weekend]. And if the shade isn't enough, there's a public swimming pool next to the park, complete with a lifeguard and two lanes for lap swimming. And so in this quiet neighborhood, there is this quiet little park, next to a quiet little pool, which you'd miss entirely if you weren't looking. 

But obviously there are more than trees, dirt, and a pool in this park. The title gave that away. There is also a green bench. And on this green bench there is a simple plaque attached to the center which reads:

"In Honor of 

Molly Ivins

Writer and Neighbor"

I never knew of or met Molly Ivins. I've never read any of her work [though from her wikipedia page, it labels her as a "newspaper columnist, liberal political commentator, humorist and author."]. I stopped to take a photo because I've always thought things like this are a beautiful way to honor and remember someone. So are gardens, trees. Simple things. They say what gravestones and monuments never could. 

And so I sat on this bench, blanketed by the shade of the tall trees. I thought about writing, about what lies ahead, and about what my plaque would read if I were gone tomorrow.