November is sweet, sunshine through bare trees, dry brown and fungus-free leaves
companionably visiting among the dead
as I did yesterday our town's small graveyard military dads who recently died lie
under polished stones embossed with actual photos of themselves and their wives
flowers and plastic totems within a miniature picket fence overflowing with the
emotions love and grieving of the living
beside or not far from simple wafer-thin old moss-covered stones on which I could
not read the names.
Such peace I realized which may be found around any rock or tree has escaped me
while I pursue my particular happiness and our particular war,
and such a blessing awaits me, too.
Copyright 2007 by Robert Ronnow.