The Cemetery
Author: Angela B
Rating: G
Character: Chris (SURPRISE!)
Disclaimer: Not mine and never will
Note: This answers Beth's March 2003 M7 Challenge.  The Poem Challenge     Nope, it's not to write a poem, but to base a story around one.     Pick a long one, short one, old one, or a new one…heck, use one of your own, which would be great.
Warning: was not in the best of moods when i found this short poem
Warning 2: It's also the shortest thing I've ever written.

Chris stood silent; giving the place the reverence it deserved. He stared down at the two markers cemented into the ground by the erosion of the earth through the years.  His eyes swept across the area. The same gray stones surrounded him, like the remains of a tumbled mansion, each one bearing a name; each one marking the passing of someone.  Some were loved and cherished, some not. The time weathered stones told the tale of how long the person had been lying there, slumbering in eternal peace. Some held ingravements on the stones; telling the type of person they were; war heroes, children, or devoted wives. They all laid here out in the open, some sheltered by trees, some basked in the shining sun; some attended, some not. He stared down at the stones marking his loved ones passing and sighed heavily.

He looked up and stared out over the horizon. Sarah loved this time of the year. Early summer, when life was still beginning anew. He recalled how excited she could become at foaling time. When mares gave birth to their new ones. Then watching the foals gain their coordination, racing and playing with one another.  When birds having come back from their flight to the south, singing their new songs, showing off their young. The bees and butterflies darting from flower to flower coloring the blue sky with a living rainbow of color, creating new blooms and life.   Trees blossoming, giving shade on hot days. Sarah was like summer herself, full of life and always making life better. He could still remember her smile, like the babbling brook that ran through the back of their ranch, calming, soothing and refreshing. This was his Sarah.

Chris looked down at the other marker. The small horse etched at the top, telling the tale of the young life with a simple picture. Chris smiled at the memory of his son. The little blond headed boy, whose hair turned curly when allowed to grow too long. A small version of his father. His birth bringing a whole new experience to the tall blonds' life, an experience that the man would cherish for the rest of his life. Like the colts that he and Sarah raised, Adam loved to romp and run and squeal. His laughter filling the air with happiness and light. The blond could recall with clarity of the the dirty face peering up at him from his little squatted position on the ground. Tracks of toy horses scattered everywhere. Corrals built of sticks and many toy horses standing about, their hooves buried in the ground to keep them remaining standing. That was his boy. His life. His heart.

Chris swallowed the lump in his throat. He had thought his life had ended when theirs had. But, like summer, he had learned, the circle starts again and life begins again. Things begin to bloom again, like his heart. There would come a time when he would join his wife and son, but not this summer. He was no longer as eager to make that journey as he once had been. He would stay and live his life and remember. Remember their smiles, laughter and the happiness they had bought to him. Walking away from the silent memorial to those who had left this earth, a small smile graced his face as a flock of butterflies passed before him, coloring his eyesight with life.


The Cemetery

Emily Dickinson

This quiet Dust of Gentlemen and Ladies,
And Lads and Girls;
Was laughter and ability and sighing,
And frocks and curls.

This passive place a Summer's nimble mansion,
Where Bloom and Bees
Fulfilled their Oriental Circuit,
Then ceased like these.