Graveyard

It was only a moment, three seconds, four seconds. Five fleeting seconds as I drove by the small gravesite. Five seconds that sparked more curiosity then the other six hours already lived that day. The old man standing at the tombstone in the back row of the old graveyard. Friday morning, single flower in hand, the only person I’ve seen in any of the countless Oklahoman community graveyards I’ve passed this year. His wife? His Child? His father? In those short five seconds of passing he looked up at me but only barely long enough to be noticed before leaving the flower and walking off towards the single car parked off the side of the gravel road. He was alone. Not by choice, or fate. Was he content with the loss? Was the flower for them? Or more so for himself? The Dead care not for material things. Maybe it was the thought behind the flower that they take with them past the gates, or maybe the blessing of the dead is no longer needing to worry about the living. Their burdens are left here, with us. We carry them because they no longer have too.