My Bench

Short essay I wrote for my English class:
How do I feel about a park bench?
I feel relaxed. When I think of a bench, I think of wood so weathered that it's almost grey, and a wrought iron frame with small intricate designs.
I think of my back to the pier, water lapping against the sand. I think of the sun just setting, and pink and blue streaking through the sky.
I imagine green grass and huge terra cotta pot filled with mums on either side of my bench.
I feel the warm breeze on a Sunday night after church, just before it rains. The wind whipping my hair backs and my skirt pressed against my legs.
When I'm on the bench, I'm eating cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches, and drinking orange soda. On the bench with me is by friend of 15 years, Clara. 15 years we've been coming to this bench, and may another 15 go by.
On my grey, weathered bench, I lastly hear the carousel with all the little children going round and round and round.
When I look at a park bench, I think of Charlotte beach on a warm summer night just before it rains, with my long time friend Clara.