I had a walk through the cemetery at lunch – the old cemetery where the stones have the same names as the city streets: Breithaupt and Weber and Eby and Krug. The same epitaphs over and over: At Rest, With God, Until He Comes. Today even Beloved Wife stirs me.
Spring is underway. Meltwater lies in grey sheets over the snow. The pathways are wet. Water runs down the asphalt -- over twigs and pebbles, it braids and herringbones. Water plings into the grates with a sound like silverware on china. Under the paths I can hear the stormdrains murmur.
In the drooping, dripping elms, the squirrels chitter. I hear a crow, a cardinal, and distantly a morning dove. Some kids on lunch from KCI are pretending not to smoke marijuana. They turn their backs to me. A girl clutches a boy’s arm and giggles. Spring at last.
