The cemetery

I climbed the deep grassy slope quickly, anxious to see what lay at the top. As I crested the hill, a single headstone greeted me, silhouetted against the sky.

It was not alone.

As I reached the top I saw another, and then another. There were many graves in that place, some so old the names were barely visible and some so new that that the stones looked like they had just been cut. All were different in shape and age, but they shared one similarity: the American flag. It fluttered beside each grave, caught in a slight breeze.

My feet slowed to a walk, and then to crawl, and soon they stopped altogether. My steps had led me to the edge of the cemetery, and there I stopped and looked.

For a place commemorating to death, the cemetery was a lively place.
Signs of life showed themselves all around. The trees, their radiant leaves glowing in the sun, gave silent homage to the life that had coursed through them all summer. All around me birds twittered as they flew from one patch of brush to another.

As I watched, a squirrel raced across the ground to claim a nut that had just fallen and started an argument between a chipmunk and a Blue Jay who obviously thought there were not enough to go around. Even the sky was alive, providing a brilliant blue backdrop for the entire entire valley and town below. In the distance, white clouds drifted slowly by, driven by the same breeze that played through the leaves and caught the flags, unfurling them like banners.

As I stood there I wondered if the people under the headstones, whose bodies had long since decayed, could appreciate this place. This was what they had fought for, liberty, beauty, clean earth, a blue sky, a fluttering breeze, the noise of birds. . . life itself . . . everything this cemetery was. It was a fitting resting place.

But as I contemplated this, the stark contradiction of the place struck me. This was only a resting place. They didn’t die here, here in this cemetery surrounded by what they loved. They fought and fell thousands of miles from here surrounded by death and misery, the very things they fought and hated most, helpless to do anything but wait for it to take them.

It was a somber thought, and I left saddened. I understood for the first time in my life that those who truly love life are rarely allowed to enjoy it but often die defending it for those who will not care.