In my dream

In my dream we're in the car. I'm driving but we're going so fast over the roller-coaster bump that we end up airborne. I call feel it in my stomach when we stop from rising and start to fall and the car flips over. I remember thinking - I hope we turn over one more time before we land. Isn't that often the way it is. hope for a thing to happen a certain way even though theres no reason for it to. Hope none the less because after all it might. Yesterday walked in a "new" cemetery. Did my half hour among revolutionary soldiers, immigrants Polish Italian Irish veterans revolutionary,civil war,WWI, WWII Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, believers in peace, pursuers of peace, may they all be rested in peace. There were Pollard's and McGarr's, names form my fathers mother. There were stone wall still puzzled neatly together and leafless trees, borders of deep New England open fields and a February sun so bright could not help envy this place of rest. If only we could alive have such space and simply still, soak up this whole moment with every sense with nothing concepted, expected or even reflected. I sat with a nine year old child - 1920 - 1929 Kathyrn M. Sherman. White stone octagon on edge. Place a tiny sea shell and a stone of sugar golden mica for her. Sat on the ground back against an old maple watching chipmunks fearless keepers of her company flit and flitter around us sometimes stopping mere inches from where I sat. I will never know how she died, how close she was to being nine or what the M. stood for. But I told her story about the wave and the ocean. You know how the wave that thinks it is only a wave and fears the breaking shore yet the ocean that the wave truly is never breaks. That while the ocean is sometimes the wave, the wave is always the ocean, it is ocean that is the true nature of the wave; except when I told her it was more like ocean spoke than wave wrote.