We have returned this week to the Ohio homeland. The landscape here always pulls me into the past, my own and the deeper pasts of long histories.
On a picturesque ridge rest the remains of untold lives. A small church stands over these old graves of America’s history. The cemetery bears the names of veterans from at least five American wars, from the Revolution through World War II. Many more of the tombs keep the secrets of unremembered lives. Who were these people? So many of them now have become anonymous as time, and weather, and neglect have defaced and crumbled their once-proud stone markers.
They all had their stories, with the final lines written in stone in this old churchyard. I have walked among their ghostly tales in this “land of lost content,” and I have added their names to the story that I am living along “The happy highways where I went / and cannot come again.” ♨