Cemetery Winds (Copyright by Joan Hart 2003)
I enter the cemetery, and it lies silent before me;
The tombstones stand as sentinels as if there is a need to protect
the stories that the upright stones would tell.
And while my eyes are looking at dates and names and epitaphs,
The ears of my soul are straining to hear the untold secrets
of the lives of those whose bones now lie beneath this sod.
The words “infant daughter” are covered with dust
and gently brushed by the tall weeds as the cemetery winds move across the stone.
Why is it there are always winds at the cemetery?
Is it God’s say of reminding us that memories are ever present in the cemetery…
That life moves on even when the bodies of those who have lived are at rest?
I stand before the roughly hewed stone and wonder about the infant daughter.
Was she the much desired baby of a couple who waited years to conceive,
only to deliver the tiny lifeless form to be carried to the cemetery
immediately after birth?
If so, then her tiny body would have held the hopes and dreams of a lifetime;
The cooing, nursing baby at breast;
The unceasing busy-ness of a toddler caring for her own babydoll
The awkward nervousness of a young woman on her first date
The virgin bride dressed in white on her wedding day
The grandchildren who were never to be.
With what sadness and grief this tiny grave would have been filled.
My eyes see in the distance a stone engraved with a heart pierced with a Cupid’s arrow
Somewhat like you might see carved in a tree deep in the forest;
There are names there with birthdates and a wedding anniversary
And the unique-ness of the dates of death, only a few days apart.
Did this couple love so deeply that one could not contemplate life without the other…
And the grief was more than a heart, already weakened by age, could bear?
What kind of love did it take to be soulmates for so many years
when so many other marriage vows were taken so lightly and forgotten?
What bound this couple together through years of hard work, childbirth, and sickness?
Then I see the answer as I stoop to brush away the hardened soil and gravel
which has been pressed against the stone’s base
by the cemetery winds;
And the words of Fanny Crosby appear “Blessed Assurance, Jesus Is Mine”.
There are other tombstones in this cemetery,
Tombstones highlighted by American flags;
And the engraved dates speak of young men
who died in the prime of life,
Making the ultimate sacrifice for their country…
In World Wars I and II, and in the frozen snows of Korea
And the humid jungles of Viet Nam;
Their American Flags waving bravely and valiantly in the cemetery winds.
I see weather beaten tombstones, deteriorating with age
I see shiny, polished tombstones at the head of newly filled graves
Red clay dirt, still piled high,
And covered with white baskets of fresh flowers
Now overturned by the winds, the cemetery winds.
Death knows no age, nor gender, nor race
Nor ethnic background, nor religious denomination.
It has come to every name in this cemetery
As it will come to each one of us, in due time.
And God’s Word says that each of us will bloom for a time
And then we too will fade away,
As the grass in the field comes
And then one day it is gone
And no one remembers it’s place.
But people WILL remember us
Whether for good or bad.
In years to come, strangers will look at our tombstones,
Notice the dates, wonder about us;
Who we were, how we lived, how we died.
Loved ones will stand where our bones will then lie
And feel the winds, the cemetery winds;
Blowing memories of us across their minds
Just as they blow the dirt across the mounds
And use the tall grasses as wind-held brooms to sweep away the dust
My mind comes back to the present.
My eyes sweep across the face of my watch.
I’ve been in the cemetery for only a short while
But many scenes have crossed my mind in just those few moments;
Memories of days past
Anticipation of days to come
All blown together by the winds,
The ever-present cemetery winds.
Joan Rowden Hart, May 24, 2003
Comments