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Flowers To the Hill: Part I
just a few miles into town round where the speed limit changes & the grass seems to grow higher on the banks than on the football fields, the front yards & the mountain paths leading up closer to the sky, the grave of a loved one lies nestle in the ground at the cemetery whose quiet is both comfortable & unnerving, bringing a special kind of mental confusion, every time the disbeliever visits to pay respects & talk a while. taking time from a week otherwise suited for getting on with one’s life, s/he makes the pilgrimage in silent, buying a new bouquet of the most beautiful flowers s/he can find & cleaning up as if to go on a first date--- instead & to the amazement of her/him, after all this time, there are still tears that creep up on the car ride over & at this point, no mention of this ritual to anybody has brought peace to this individual, for it is only the visit & the one-way conversation at the grave site which seems to be the only way to sustain anymore. the groundskeeper watches the car slow on the cemetery road, for he/she knows the routines of those who mourn habitually, and even though he’s/she’s seen it a thousand times, it can make him/her wonder, break her/his own heart, while at the same time making him/her grateful for all the people in their own live, whom he/she values so much. getting out of the car, the lone loved one walks often with their head hanging, while at other times, they are standing straight looking up ahead, as if anything had changed & though the shrink continues to beat the drum of “change comes from within,” s/he’s convinced that shrink is bull*****& is strongly considering the cessation of the sessions.
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