Again (for reason's too mundane), I drove up from the city today.
The Taconic's not whooped me yet, but the 35 mile serpentine stretch up from the Saw Mill is testing me. My mettle's battered, but we're intact.
Again, mom's grave - close to where she and Rod had a house, sits south of my own's home's exit. So I got off at Bull's Head Road for another visit to the cemetary.
Again, not a soul there.
Sat by her embedded stone for a spell, realizing (am always the last) why we have markers, and places, for our dead.
Because it's a place to come to where - at least in our minds - we can imagine the person is. Though they may well be everywhere but, or everywhere and.
Anyway, I appreciated the site. And imagined, though Linds' ashes haven't yet come to rest here, that there was a good chance Linds was about too.
A gravestone is a steady thing, to which I attribute omniscience. Mom as oracle sort of.
Today (I lay meagre flowers on the stone - bushes at cemetary's edge in a fallow stretch and lilac long gone), there were ants about. Not much as a welcoming committee but making their way, obliviously busy, across the "0" of mom's "2002", they were strange comfort. So too the cricket hidden near mom's "N".
It was like catching a moment of Mom's now-life, her view, her day - this season for her.
As if she might observe:
More dandelions about this year.
Not so many visitors.
And it's been so wet.
C - glad for a place to go
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