The Bench: Sea Dog
The old man arrived at the bench out of breath but he did not sit. Always next to him, his dog of black and white wagged her tail and panted. The sun was rising and it cast its orange into the new sky and old sea. The man ran his hands along the wood of the bench and then knocked it with his knuckle. He thought of those thick clunking boots against the rocking deck.
He sat down and the dog followed, jumping up to lay down and rest her chin on the old man’s lap and they watched the morning scene unfold as it always did.