I find mysefl in Denver for the uncertain future. I have never lived west of the Mississippi restricting myself to the eastern rural regions of the Ohio Valley for the majority of my existance so I'm having to acculimate myself to new environs, new mountains, new biology, and urbanity so periotically I have to set myself in regions of familiarity.
In my childhood I grew up in a house surrounded by cemetaries. I don't find cemetaries to be parks, places to play, to picknock, to run and hike. I have justified this cemetary frivolity as something I'd like to watch when I was planted for eternity so when I look for a place of familiar reflection I look for cemetaries.
So yesterday I was feeling a little homesick looking soe a place of pensive refliction and found myself riding my bicycle by Fort Logan national cemetary.
Fort Logan is nothing like the cemetary I played in---Fort Logan is the repository of 100,000 heroes standing in parade formation stretching neatly in review as far as the eyes can see. Iy's an active cemetary and during the two hours I was reflecting I joined the mourners as thre remains of three heroes were inturred, one from the good war, one from Vietman, and one from the present. Three generations joining the ranks to stand together in the Garden of Stone.
Rap