Nine Stones

Yesterday morning I rode my bicycle to the cemetery. We had received a fair amount of rain the day before, and so I didn’t go to water the flowers, but just to check on things, and to get out of the house. The skies were grey, and it occurred to me that it might rain again. Only this time on top of me. When I reached the entrance to the cemetery I stopped to look over the gardens. They are so pretty. I will always be thankful to the City for creating this lovely resting place, and for doing it right. Imprinted in the concrete are angels, which represent infant burials. Many of which are together in one place.

When I reached the entrance to the cemetery I stopped to look over the gardens.

When I reached the top of the hill, I noticed that their was a freshly dug grave awaiting a dead person. But no one was there. Not the mourners, or the grave keepers or the funeral director, or the clergyman. No one. Just an open hole in the earth, and a canopy. I looked it over, which prompted an inner conversation on death. Nearby was a stone with the name BLAKE. It has a carving of Jesus on it, which is exquisite. I was so moved by its artistry, and the look of sadness on Jesus’ face, that it made me think that maybe death is sad.

Nearby was a stone with the name BLAKE on it. It has a carving of Jesus on it, which is exquisite.

After I had checked on my mum and dads gravesite, I strolled about trying to observe something new. I felt that if I was to succeed though, I would probably need to cross over the creek, and walk about the south section. So I removed my sandals, leaned my bike against the fence, and got down to the business of observing. I came upon the infant burials, that I mentioned earlier, and counted the number of stones. Their were nine, but apparently their are many more who are buried there, without stones. In the middle their is a small statue of an angel, looking respectfully sullen.

A small statue of an angel, looking respectfully sullen.

After I had sat down on a bench for a short time, it began to rain. A hard rain. So I rode my bike as fast as I could, and found a narrow shelter in the entrance way to St. Josephs Catholic Church. I paced back and forth, and wondered how I would get home in time to be ready for work. Finally, I got tired of pacing and walked out into the rain and took pictures of a statue of Jesus, that sits in a sort of grotto. By the time I returned to my bicycle I was soaked through, and so decided it was hopeless, and that I would just ride home in the rain. Which was quite invigorating, I must say.

I found a narrow shelter.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.