we bury David

november 3 2010

gather on cool sunny november morning
at house where he lived and died.
body in boat box is carried to black van by sons and friends.
long, slow drive away from the sea to the farmland of the sons .
brown leaves rain down on us as we drive on this sunny cool morning.
boat box moved from van to
hay wagon
and there, one son hammers each nail to seal the lid of the boat box with the man's body inside of it. all watching. bells chiming.
on the hay wagon
pulled by 2 beautiful, black draft horses,
the boat box rides.
down the road,
into the field,
along the river. bells chiming.
with mother, father, wife, sons, daughter, grandbabies, friends following.
the ground is brown
the sun shines,
the air cool, clear.
the boat box now carried by hands of friends and family up a hill above the river,
to the clearing made just yesterday by the sons. bells chiming.
we all gather by the hole; nearby the boat box now rests. bells chiming
the boat box waits by the hole
for all the blessings and goodbyes and tears. bells chiming.
as the blessings are said,
the leaves rain down through the sunny, bare trees
with sweet words spoken. bells chiming.
singing bells chime over and over again as a soothing mantra that holds us all, each one.
words are spoken that bring tears to listeners and speakers alike as the sun warms us all.
oak leaves cushion our feet. bells chiming
blessings, words of friendship, poems and songs frame the setting and hold each soul
as we wait for mother earth to take him back. bells chiming.
strong sons lower father, husband, son, grandfather, friend
into the hand dug hole. bells chiming.
a son puts the first shovel of earth into the hole that now holds the boat box, saying goodbye. bells chiming.
the father and the mother and another son and a daughter and many friends and some of the children put shovels of dirt in the hole. bells chiming.
we all say good bye, one by one, with a bit of soil. bells chiming.
all join in to bury the boat box with the man's body inside of it. bells chiming.
bury it in the ground under 6 ft of rich soil under oak trees and sun and birds and wind. bells chiming.
every shovel-ful takes us another step away from him.
some danced on the grave to pack it down
soil mounded higher and higher, just so.
sticks mark the corners. bells chiming
soon a stone will mark the place. bells chiming

the bells stop.
the people disperse, some to a big oak tree down by the river,
the children lead to the tree, they are ready to move on.
one climbs high
then back down
then we all run thru oak woods to catch a ride back home
on the hay wagon.
one less among us now.