Both of my parents passed away in the month of April, my mother preceding my father by a little more than one year.   The burial ceremony spare, the grave unmarked, covered with clumps of dirt and mud.  It’s a messy affair, quiet and disquieting, memories clouded. Uncomfortably numb.

One year later, we gather again for the unveiling, pain eased by time.  Tradition guiding us, marking impermanence, placing a granite monument etched with the bare essentials, name, dates, religious lineage.  Our presence evidence of their enduring importance.  And honoring them with unmarked stones.

PAST

Evocative trance

Nothingness tranquility

Shadowing my view.