Little boys and tombstones…

There’s a little boy in the graveyard. Distracted by twirling decorations like flags and plastic wind catchers and the sparkly cellophane coddling grocery-store bouquets. He’s barefoot. Running through the grass. Fitting in with the sunshine. Radiating life between the tombstones. It does seem strange or cryptic or depressing (or is it ironic?) that so much living seems to take place in graveyards. We’re closer to this whole nonsense of being alive, more aware of it, more in tune with it. It flows through us with a vengeance when we have to confront the reality that one day, it won’t.

~ by carik on September 13, 2008.