I live in a country-like suburb about twenty-five miles from Boston: farm land during colonial times. Word has it that Sudbury encompasses the largest landmass in the Commonwealth. As I’ve shown on previous blogs, the walks I take from my house are quite idyllic, so you might conclude that they are also quiet. I don’t want to exaggerate the noise but suffice to say, I’ve given up counting the number of lawn-care and garbage (excuse me, waste-removal) trucks that chug past me. Thank goodness, at least for the safety of walkways.
A quiet walking spot, however, is the expansive cemetery just beyond the Unitarian Church at the town center. I go there with a friend whose husband is buried close to a tree that the family planted. It is a peaceful place for both of us. While my friend sits and remembers, I walk and remember—friends, spouses of friends, a dear teaching colleague, and a second grade student. Sad for me but seemingly peaceful for those buried there. Strange how that is!
A quiet walking spot, however, is the expansive cemetery just beyond the Unitarian Church at the town center. I go there with a friend whose husband is buried close to a tree that the family planted. It is a peaceful place for both of us. While my friend sits and remembers, I walk and remember—friends, spouses of friends, a dear teaching colleague, and a second grade student. Sad for me but seemingly peaceful for those buried there. Strange how that is!