It is one mile from my front porch steps to the giant oak tree, just past the cemetery gate. It’s a good walk for talking, for watching out for bumps in the sidewalk, and for noticing details. Chris and I choose things we like; hanging ferns, stained glass around door frames, etched windows, red geraniums. We look for painted shutters, unique mailboxes, bird feeders that fend off squirrels, squirrel feeders. The day after Halloween we found the sidewalks littered with candy that never made it into pillow cases. We count how many cats we pass and politely explain to the ones that want to follow us that we are not taking any new pets at the moment, and encourage them to go on home. Most walks we take together are after dinner, and since we turned our clocks back an hour, we have to eat pretty early to catch the sunset at the cemetery. Chris’s watch alerts us that we’ve gone a mile, and just as we meet the base of the tallest oak, we get a moment with the sun. This ephemeral echo reminds us the feeling of happiness, which is a fleeting feeling we must acknowledge. Moments that bring us contentment are mysterious, it’s hard to pin down those times when we are really smiling. They can’t always be called upon, planned, or choreographed into the day, they just appear, and we must recognize when the universe drops a rose at our feet. Roses last a short while, their petals let go and shrivel. Even the glow of lightning bugs can’t be contained in jelly jars forever. Sometimes reaching just pushes something further away; all you can do is pay attention, and accept that every once in a while, pleasure flutters by.
“The serene philosophy of the pink rose is steadying. Its fragrant, delicate petals open fully and are ready to fall, without regret or disillusion, after only a day in the sun.-Rachel Peden
If we get to the cemetery late, we get out our cameras and try to capture as best we can our experience. It’s too bad our minds don’t work as well as our eyes, if only we could retrieve mental images with such detail and luster; a camera can give eternity to a moment. We try different angles, turn around, and see the setting hues change in an instant. On this particular night, you could have stood still and watched the world turn. I am in awe of the mighty fireball in the sky, the one that sustains our lives at a perfect distance, which happens to be 93 million miles. Its light finds us in our beds early, it peeks into our homes and gives the furry friends a square on the floor to bask in.
Of course we walk with care as we weave our way towards the oldest part of the cemetery, graves there date all the way back to the 1840s. It is humbling to notice how short lives were before modern medicine and scientific knowledge. However, I do believe people before us had more resilience, or what is called “grit.” We chase over the Moores, the Smiths, the Kincaids, and the Pritchards to get the best views, we can see the water tower from the edge of the hillside. As we walk the mile back home at dusk we are silent, no need to disrupt what our senses are savoring.
On adventurous mornings, I crawl out from beneath warm quilts to greet the sun in the same place we parted in the evenings. One mile to the base of the tallest oak, and well, hello sunshine. As the sun lifts heavy fog, it gives the dead place life. Headstones seem joyful to be warmed after a cold night, and the long shadows are whimsical. I must offer a nod of respect to those deceased; their memorials individually are mournful, but the collection of them all against rolling hills gives us beauty after death. If one day my own headstone sits still against the sun as it rises or sets, I sure hope someone walking by remembers me. There is no more peaceful a place to greet the sun by morning or to tuck it in at night than in the presence of resting souls and white tailed deer.
On the hardest days we have, it’s comforting to know the sun will eventually bring with it better days. If we remember to trust in its ancient wisdom, we can be reminded that a bright day can come up short for those that have not endured the dark ones. Remember the light that is waiting for you at the end of your dark tunnel, and cherish your days best you can before you take your final rest by the oak in the stillness.
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The Mint Patch Monologue 