the manager was busy stocking the patio with bottles for an evening of music and mirth.
"sky looks bad," i said as i hurriedly downed another guinness draught. "there's some storm clouds on the radar to the west, but it will blow over and we will have music outside."
as i left the bar, the pigeons on the roof were cowering from the windy side. they knew or sensed or felt something.
"uh, oh," i thought and snapped...
an afternoon nap was interrupted as the power went out with that jolt.. when the lights returned with yet another jolt, my 2002 computer was blinking. it's work was done.
the city worker placing barricades and warnings for darkened traffic lights, said "the cemetery and diamond hills got hit bad. there's only 2 of us on duty and it's been a really bad day, what with 2 major water main breaks and now this."
upon arriving at the south main street entrance to the cemetery a few minutes later, one would find large areas of the grounds had been relandscaped as if by a giant speeding flying knife. huge trees had snapped or were pulled out by the roots, often leaving dark deep formless holes as memorials to where and what had been.
a tree near my wives' markers had snapped and the upper half was blanketting their monuments. wooden crosses i had made for them were on the ground under what minutes before was the top of a vibrant young tree.
that was the cemetary entry point on it's path of destruction.
several nearby memorials were toppled, blown several feet, cracked, or untouched.
the tiny crew at the cemetery was overwhelmed by the damage. there will be little outside help. governments don't care about dead voters. we will help as we can. please give the personnel time, and be patient.....
funerals will go on, if ....
most of the sacred grounds remain as living bridges between the generations, offering continuity and structure to our uncertain lives.
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