Be grateful

Eric died in a tragic accident. I don't know how exactly though.

His parents- Peter Holsinger and Veronica Holsinger brought me here.

I heard Peter telling the handyman that Eric was driving his car up country on a cold winter evening on a snowy road and his car skidded off and toppled down a precipice- not the very first one- I heard him saying.

About a year later, some people heard on the grapevine that he had tried to avoid a fox on the road–-poor fellow.

Veronica put these flowers on top of me. Peter and Veronica often see me. The wording written in the memory of Eric is something many take time to read.

A eulogy. Or whatever you call.

An old couple came here yesterday. They thanked Peter and Veronica before leaving and they didn't forget to give me a pretty good stroke too. That's how smooth I am.They even appreciated the made of me and my maker.

I haven't seen my maker since I was made.

It's like giving birth to a child and letting someone else to adopt it.

Anyway,I hope one day he'd come and see me knowingly or unknowingly.

I say it because every passing day, hundreds of different people pass by me. Some use me. Some adore me. Some stroke me like they do to a cat. Some, I must say, even abuse me.

A couple one evening came and made themselves comfy.

It was such a beautiful evening even butterflies were making love on the flower bouquet on me and bushes in the park.

The girl was a French girl and boy was English. I could understand from their accents too. They even mentioned about things that verified my understanding.

She had come to England on a student visa. She was such a svelte beauty of French elegance. She opened her palm expecting butterflies to settle on. A fluttering one after sucking a bit of nectar ended its flutter on her middle finger.

I saw him nipping to the ice cream stall in the left corner. He grabbed two succulent 'Havenly treats' dripping on the side.

He licked it as he was coming back. They both sat licking ice cream. He kissed and licked her lips with a bit of cream on. So sexy and salacious.

It seemed like his libido had ratched up. I could see his boner trying to tear his trousers open.

As it was getting dark in the evening, it was more than an ice cream and relaxation.

It was more like a rehearsal of a foreplay before the big match tonight.

I was happy not just to accommodate them but also to witness some live actions. An evening to remember.

I must say, in fact I did.

My territory is sandwiched between two roads. I'm proud to say that this place holds the plaque where the names of war heroes are engraved.

The Remembrance Day is a day to remember and cherish wholeheartedly. I truly get to be a part of it when people from all walks of life throng in here to pay respect to the people who sacrificed their lives to make a better world.

Flowers..... laid across the altar galore and on either side of me and right in the center of me. I smell good these days.

Janice comes here every Remembrance Day to show her respect to her granddad who died in the war.

She's a regular patroniser of me. She never forgets to adorn me with some primroses and bluebells.

This year she came with her lovely little daughter. The little girl was clad in a beautifully fluffy frock. She was the cynosure of all eyes to be honest.

Top brasses didn't forget to stop to say 'hi' to her. I was looking at them.

I've always been nosy, haven't I?

What else can I do being here all my life?

But I wholeheartedly cherish the time I spend here mingling with all and sundry.

Special days are rather heavy for me. People have no choice in here rather than finding me for their bum comfort.

Ha...ha...ha... I've seen and felt all their bums.

Some are rock solid. Some are soft and juicy. Some are smelly. Some are so flat and no shape at all.

Some even do let their air find freedom here. That's when I loathe them —unbearable miasma.

I have to bear all these...no matter what..

At night ..it's freezing here. But I still get odd drunkards with their half drunk bottles and cans.

For some it's only my solace they have but they don't bother to clean me up.

I ask. 'Why would you want to stub out your fags on my arms or legs?'

Disgusting - I hate them.

But still provide the comfort they eagerly seek.

And I'm more than happy to provide shelter and abode to my nice little companion who has woven a web underneath me.

If it's a bright and sunny day, he comes over me and scampers across me like a busy little boy who has lost his precious toy.

On rainy days, I hardly see him. He makes himself snug in a corner of me.

I'm glad and grateful to this little companion.

He's got a friend in me and vice versa.

Rainy days aren't good for either of us. I've always seen him shiver underneath me.

I've excoriated a lot due to rain and extreme weather. My arms now don't have the glow that I used to have when I first came here.

I'm a bit wonky now but it's something I only have noticed. I can still remain inconspicuous.

I manage as much as I could.

An old lady who came to me recently said 'oh my god, this is a rickety one'.

But believe it or not, she made herself comfortable for over an hour before deciding to move away.

I was so cross with her until she stood up to walk away.

I can't do anything about it though, can I?

Summer is the busiest time of the year for me. Everybody mingles with me—seeks my help and comfort.

I'm always more than happy to grant help.

I'm now old and rickety. I can hardly hold anybody as I used to.

All those people still, from time to time, walk past me but unfortunately, they find no time to even have a gander at me.

Where is it?....where is it?

Gratitude.