Strange Muted Sighs

What lies in the time before twilight is a certain truth. It falls with a sureness soon to come, a tangible passage of time. Strange muted sighs from the distant rise of rolling hills, and all that hides in the valley between this South and that North Mountain. The impracticality of old cemeteries draws me out, imagining heavy stones and bodies borne up steep slopes. They don't plant people like they used to, searching instead for some flat field to make the mourning easier. But it seems to me that the wonder is worth it, building up a little beauty so the sadness has more meaning. Spires perched like birds in precarious position, heartfelt hilltop history, over my head and underfoot. When the bottom falls out of my memories, it's a six foot drop at most. But from the top of this slope, it's a sleepy descent, all the way down to the past.

 

April 30, 2020

Old Tremont Cemetery

Tremont, Nova Scotia

 

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