July 11, 2010. Aaahhh, heavenly rest. One blue sky, clouds drifting by, grass green under my feet, an expanse of land. Who will rest in this patch, in a tiny town between the church and the trees. The lawn rolls, like the hills around this spot near the Mississippi. It holds the remains of ancestors and neighbors, arranged in rows, neat, tidy, harmonious. But each plot retains an individuality - the spirit in the body laid here. I am happy to be able to visit here, to walk among these stones, to remember what I do not know and imagine what I can.Sunday, July 25, 2010
CEMETARY
July 11, 2010. Aaahhh, heavenly rest. One blue sky, clouds drifting by, grass green under my feet, an expanse of land. Who will rest in this patch, in a tiny town between the church and the trees. The lawn rolls, like the hills around this spot near the Mississippi. It holds the remains of ancestors and neighbors, arranged in rows, neat, tidy, harmonious. But each plot retains an individuality - the spirit in the body laid here. I am happy to be able to visit here, to walk among these stones, to remember what I do not know and imagine what I can.
