The day has come and gone. The holiday weekend is over. Again. We took Mason for a long walk after we returned home late from a birthday bash last night. Our walk, and our condominium, is surrounded by a giant cemetery. The workers began trimming a few weeks ago -- mowing, planing flowers, trimming around gravestones. I mean, hey, it's gotta be pretty for Memorial Day....right? A few days before the weekend, the flowers began to show up. And Saturday through Monday was a steady stream of cars and people -- opening up the backs of their SUVs or trunks of the cars and taking out flowers, flags, bows, ribbons, decorations. Quite a few of the graves have American flags on them. Some flowers are straight out of people's yards while others have that tell-all sign of pretty paper wrapped around them.
We enjoyed a rain-free day yesterday and actually quite a few sun breaks. I only mention that because it's rare in the spring here. It was a very nice day for folks to be out -- remembering, thinking, and contemplating. The sun had set when we walked Mason last evening. Along the side of the cemetery. I always glance in. On every walk. I look at dates, names, the bits and bobs of wording that people choose to engrave on the stones. And, no surprise to many, I think and wonder who these people were. Why some graves have flowers and some do not. What life was like for each of these people. I'm just that way. The cemetery was quite at 9pm last night. The coming and going had stopped. The extra gates and entryways all closed up for the weekend except for the main entry. Things were quiet. Peaceful. A bit sad. I saw a few flags still trying to wave in the night breeze -- the dusk casting across them hiding the red, white and blue colors.
Wet. This morning is wet. Again. The regularly scheduled cemetery workers are back. Normal. I guess it may be 8am-5pm sort of thing. The flags are hanging down with the dampness of the rain. The flowers are still pretty against the spring-green shades of the acres of grass. Things are back to normal. Average. There's got to be a wet morning after.