visiting
It's off – the way the willow lines the ways
Sliding along the riverbank
Like friends following a snake.
The wind tearing over the river
Over the field
Over my shoes
Making all the little rocks tremble in the parking lot.
Even being here is special.
It's not every day you go to a cemetery.
It's not every day the sun can feel this cold.
Yet you sit here and look out on the willows that even now take in the wind and breathe out soft echoing murmurs so quiet but you can hear them.
The laughter of better days
Carried on the wind.