May You Smell Flowers At Your Death

Yesterday morning I walked to the cemetery. Along the way I stopped to look over some of the Wild Roses that have begun to appear everywhere. When I reached Maiden Lane, I noticed that a vine had grown up right inside of a telephone posts wire channel, and was now popping out from the top of it. Such remarkable tenacity!

A vine has grown up right inside the wire channel.

When I reached the empty lot that I spoke about a few days ago, I took a photo of the developers signs. Then I crossed over Main Street and admired all the Locust Trees growing along the bank of the river. They are in full bloom, and you can smell the blossoms from a distance. The scent they give off tends to stir up strong memories in me. Mostly of the summers of my childhood. Its fascinating how our minds bank these smells and keep them connected to certain memories. It would be wonderful to be dying and to smell a flower, or freshly cut grass, and to remember something pleasant.

The signs for development at the empty lot on Main Street. I will sorely miss my walks there.
The Locust Trees along the River are in full bloom.

I walked then to the cemetery and checked on my Mother and Fathers gravesite. I am fairly pleased with everything, though it appears as if the annuals I planted are not rooting yet. But the Ivy is exceeding my expectations. Its growing and creeping along quite nicely. My hope is to keep it pruned, but to allow it to cover the gravestone. Or at least around the base of the gravestone.

The ceramic angel I bought two winters ago at the thrift store, sits nicely installed at the cemetery.


This morning I decided that rather then walk to the cemetery, I would ride my bike. Firstly though I rode to the coffee shop, where I bought a coffee, which I drank while sitting outside on a curb. Afterwards, I rode around the south part of town aimlessly, before turning in the direction of the park. When I arrived at the cemetery I met a Portuguese gentleman and his two sons, who I know well, but had not seen all Winter or Spring. All three of them had beards, which I complimented them on. I showed them the flowers I had planted at my mother and fathers gravesite, and then we walked to the grave of his wife (and their mother.) As we stood there the father made the sign of the cross, which I copied out of respect. Then I left them.

Downtown Streetsville.

I rode around the south part of town aimlessly.

The Cemetery.

When I reached home I took my bicycle upstairs to my apartment, and then went back outside with Joseph. He followed me until we encountered a dog, then he ran back. So I turned back as well. In the backyard of the apartment building we both sat down. I watched the wind blowing the tops of the trees, and Joseph watched me.

Joseph watched me.

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