the hill

We left The Hill early in the afternoon, W paying respects at Frances' freshly dug grave, before we headed home.

That's what the family calls this small, lovely cemetery. Yes, it does sit on the top of a tucked away hill, giving a sense of deceased souls rising high above. There were butterflies with us, and the unexpected yet not surprising cardinal.  

I walked the uneven grass, giving W some moments alone with her mother. The Hill is the chosen spot for many generations of families; some older tombstones' inscriptions too weathered to read. As we left, I was almost envious of the house just a few yards down and across the street. I wondered if the residents have picnicked among these dead, the gesture feeding their own souls, I would suspect.

We took a back road home; now miles and miles and miles of life playing out on each side of us. Everything about the countryside seemed comforting, and little passing on the two-lane road forced a slow pace of no rush to get home.

We saw young children practicing cartwheels in their side yard, and plant workers on break at a communal picnic table, hairnets still on. A life size metal sculpture, a gorilla, appeared in a parking lot and stared us down.

Cattle copulated, trains whizzed by. I wish I'd counted the many ponds. So many! We slowed, sometimes were stopped by the single intersection in numerous small towns. No matter though, how small or unpopulated they were, they had a church. Each and every one. The comfort gifted us may have, seemed to come from that. Rest in peace, Frances.

The images from this return road trip were vivid and will not soon be forgotten, but I will especially, especially, forever more now, mentally return to Kansas, to that country highway every time I hear this song. I believe its premise to be true.

W would snap her fingers from the start, and too quickly I'd be pleading, "Play it again, Baby."

Rise up this mornin',
smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
pitch by my doorstep,
Singin' sweet songs
of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', "This is my message to you-ou-ou."

Singin', "Don't worry about a thing,
Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
Singin', "Don't worry about a thing,
Cause every little thing gonna be all right."

(Three Little Birds, Bob Marley)