I Blinked…

…and summer ended. Well, it’s almost over anyway. Many kids are already back in school or going back in the next week. Labor Day, the “unofficial” end of summer, is only in a few weeks.

Not complaining though. Summer is nearly tied with winter for being my least favorite season (I do like it only *slightly* better) so I’m glad for the heat to end. I’m a fan of fall–favorite season by far. I look forward to keeping my windows open for more than two days at a time.

Also, September’s approach means my vacation to Disney World! I’m in desperate need of a week to get away from work and life in general. Taking vacation in the fall is wonderful for the most part–not as many people since everyone’s back to school, not as hot–but it’s agonizing watching people all throughout the summer take a week off while I still have to wait. Well, the waiting’s almost over. 🙂

One thing I do wish though, was that my sudden editing/writing frenzy began when summer did–then I wouldn’t have to be rushing to put things together. Oh well. Perhaps I thrive on the pressure. Somewhat.

So, did summer pass by as quickly for you as it did for me?

Markers of a Time Forgotten

So, hand in hand with my love of history comes my fascination with cemeteries. I know that sounds morbid, but really it comes from that overwhelming sense of reverence I have when I see one, especially the old, forgotten ones.

You know the ones I mean–little family cemeteries from ages past, isolated in a farmer’s field or even right in the middle of suburbia (there’s one within a two-minute walk from where I work, right between a Walgreens and a Goodwill store). There’s something that comes over me when I walk through one, the markers all faded by the years, the people buried beneath long forgotten. But if you look carefully, sometimes you find some very interesting stories just from the inscriptions, especially if the family had a poem inscribed.

The ones that always move me are children’s gravestones–and a marker at the cemetery near I work has one for two children who died under the age of eight within three weeks of each other. What heartache the parents must’ve felt to lose their two daughters within mere weeks of another?  It humbles me, in a time where we often take life for granted, where we think we’re invincible and can “live forever.” These graves make me remember how fragile life really is, even amidst the busy traffic and neverending mobility of the 21st century.

Anyway, a few years back I actually wrote a poem about this for a writing challenge. It’s called “Markers of a Time Forgotten.”

Deep within an ageless forest
Where light and sound doth fade,
The passage of time seems to stem
To those who tread this glade.

Within this dell between time’s weeds,
Covered by countless years
Four faded gravestones catch the eye
A sight that one reveres.

Beneath a tree with sprawling roots
A tall white marker stands—
Enshrouded in a veil of moss,
Reflecting a life once grand.

Another stone stands tall within
The regal marker’s wake.
The only words that do remain:
“The Lord my soul doth take.”

Yonder within the shaded grove,
Two smaller stones still lie—
Akin in size, shape and shade
The two sit side by side.

One little stone is chipped and cracked,
A victim of the years.
The other fares little better,
Erased by heaven’s tears.

Four lonely graves within the grove,
Abandoned to the past.
Bygone memories, cherished lives—
Forgotten oh so fast.

Our lives are but a moment now
On this temporal sphere.
Seasons pass and memories fade
Relics of yesteryear.

These four stones will surely crumble
As time and years pass by.
But these four lives will surely wake
With the final trumpet’s cry.