Yesterday's Lovers

Yesterday, wisps of fog could be found swirling amongst the ancient oaks, ghosts from another time. Today the oaks are without chaperones. Lonely sentinels left to guard the memories of those who are no longer gravities prisoners. The ground beneath their limbs is bare but for granite stones, cold and impersonal, scattered upon the earth. A sober acceptance of the passing seasons entwined with the denial of times never ending march. Visitors are few to these somber acres. Hidden from view behind rusted, wrought iron fences fighting a losing battle with the encroaching vines. The few who still make the journey are barely discernible from those who have already moved beyond this realm. Old beyond their years they still fight for the memory of those who have passed before them. Feeble attempts are made to clear the weeds from around the stone that marks the passing of one they loved. Silent prayers are shared as tears from still grieving eyes soak through the earth to the bones below. Each visit made is a solemn reminder that soon there will be not one but two names etched in stone.

From the top of the old hill where teenagers still park a mournful fog once again winds its way through the stones. In the silent darkness the living will drink their beer and dare each other to slip through the fence and touch one of the stones. While in the fog bound darkness yesterday's lovers, rise from the dust and dance to the rhythm of the stars.