Headstones and Branches

Not too long ago, on a torrid and perfidiously hot day, I can remember visiting my grandmother’s house. I often recall so much of that day I sometimes feel careworn to thinking about it. My cousins and I were all sitting around the old oak tree in the back yard. We were trying to decide whether or not to go to the river for a quick dip to cool down. On a normal day this would be a trouble-free decision, but for some unknown reason I suggested a short saunter to the graveyard instead. To walk there we had to go through what seemed like hundreds of short passageways. The dirt road we traveled was a narrow one and covered on each of its sides by solid brush. The road went on for what felt like miles and then unexpectedly, from nowhere there was an opening probably no bigger than a small cars doorway. You could just see the sun’s rays peaking through the passageway hidden by old broken off tree limbs. There were infinitesimal strands of spider webs hung from one corner to the nex...