There’s a plot of ground that lays still, quiet. It’s a special, revered ground, but realistically, only to a few.
It’s a place to remember, a place to forget, a place to laugh, to cry, a place to go back and have conversations and wonder if anyone who sees thinks you’re insane.
The life goes on in DNA, and for a generation, maybe even two or three, in the memories of those who loved. Day in, day out, a monument stands, but ultimately time will weather, change and eventually remove it too for time waits on no one.
It’s true. Time heals. But time also slowly sweeps away the cobwebs and storehouses treasured in the memory. Maybe it’s the gentle sweeping motion of time that makes it easier to think back and smile, while at the same time, dulling the sharp blade of the day.
Irregardless, the sun continues to circle around and round, slowly changing, slowly aging, and for those who hold the ground holy, reverent, precious, the gentle sweeping continues.
How you want to remember the sound of a voice, the exact spoken words, the smell of a shirt, the day to day events… but time’s invasive broom continually sweeps the memory in an invisible, gentle sway.
Panic surges when you realize you’re forgetting details and you want to grab them, record them in stone and never let go! But then again, stone eventually wears away too.
And so it is, you hold on today. You remember. You smile. Then you wipe away a tear, for at dusk, life’s sun sets and continues its circle, but not where we can see, at least for now.