Dead Calm
Today I toured the cemetery. Before you grimace and assume I attended a funeral or was in the throws of a depression, let me explain that the place is situated near the library where I park the car to take my daily constitutional. It has the added advantage of sitting on a promontory overlooking Little Harbor, and its "residents" hold one of the most expansive views in town. While lacing up my sneakers, I decided today’s walk should include a detour there.
The area I explored is one of our community's oldest resting places. Weathered slate markers dating as far back as the 1700’s lean high above the granite ledges that seem to grow and shrink in the tidal flats pooling below. Central Cemetery is carved out of grass tiers that step up from each other. A stone Celtic cross towers at the top, erected in memory of immigrants from the Irish brig St. John that foundered on ledge while carrying these pilgrims to a better life. Far below the cross, flattened marsh hay etches the shoreline along with greening buds and tangled strands of sea heather. The sun heated the small gravestones edging the beach this morning. Purple crocuses bloomed in bunches below veterans flags that lifted up on a hanging breeze. Today, the sea beyond the harbor slept steel flat and cold and gusts blew damp, but a whisper of spring erased the sting. Pebbles from the stone walk crunched as I wandered toward the road. On my way back to the library I swung my arms and eyeballed the forsythia preparing to burst in front of an antique cape along the way.
You may take issue with me strolling among the peaceful dead but to tell the truth, I began my walk low key in mood. The hike among them though--well, more than anything, it brought me back to life.
