Certainty of What We Do Not See

  In a small patch of woods, a little grove not a quarter mile from the highway, sits a bench. The wood has become weathered along the edges from the seasons, taking on a dark grey hue where there was once almost naturally white wood.
  Drawing closer, as the saplings and wildflowers tug at your sides, you see the last hour of sun begin to come out from behind the clouds and bring into light the the wood of this bench for what it once was. The middle of the seat begins to glow with an angelic like presence from the sunset, making you feel safe, while growing more curious of this place.
  Your hand can almost reach out and touch it, the strokes of grain smooth under your fingertips. This was once important to someone special. You can't say why, you simply know, by the spiritual presence coursing through the confines of the trees.
  While contemplating the presence around you, something catches your eye you didn't think was there a moment ago. A pile of stones stands neatly stacked feet away from the bench. You turn to get closer, when you feel your footing pulled out from under you. You catch yourself on your hands and knees before your face can hit the earth. And there it is. Brushing away the leaves you make out a name in the aged stone plaque, and words of wisdom to guide you on the rest of your journey. "Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."