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Tue Dec 19 00 / 4:51 AM

After a sudden chill, there is a saying that goes, Someone just walked over your grave.

Today, on the way from Renfrew with my mother and brother, we stopped at the cemetery in Pakenham, where many from my mother's side are and will be buried. It's really the most beautiful cemetery I know, and if I wasn't headed for Mars I suppose I wouldn't mind ending up there.

I'd never seen it in winter, though. Covered in last week's snowstorm and today's fat falling flakes, it was a different place. It was no longer a cemetery, no longer a collection of stones to read and revere, but a flat earth laid atop generations of dead people. And for the first time, someone I knew was among them.

I walked on my grandmother's grave to put decorations on the Japanese yew trees. I ran in the snow with my mother and brother. We giggled breathlessly as the snowflakes piled softly on both the temporarily and permanently still - maybe it was the nervous tension of a solemn place; maybe it was the guilty relief of being the ones alive.

It was still a good feeling; to laugh together for no reason, to have the same simple goal without pushing someone into it, to be outside in a warm snowfall that blanketed sound and sight until we were alone with our past and future.

Make it all count, you can't always come back.

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Lisa Higgs

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*having ghosts*
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latest archive about email links yearbook japan photoblog wish list	Tue Dec 19 00 / 4:51 AM After a sudden chill, there is a saying that goes, Someone just walked over your grave. Today, on the way from Renfrew with my mother and brother, we stopped at the cemetery in Pakenham, where many from my mother's side are and will be buried. It's really the most beautiful cemetery I know, and if I wasn't headed for Mars I suppose I wouldn't mind ending up there. I'd never seen it in winter, though. Covered in last week's snowstorm and today's fat falling flakes, it was a different place. It was no longer a cemetery, no longer a collection of stones to read and revere, but a flat earth laid atop generations of dead people. And for the first time, someone I knew was among them. I walked on my grandmother's grave to put decorations on the Japanese yew trees. I ran in the snow with my mother and brother. We giggled breathlessly as the snowflakes piled softly on both the temporarily and permanently still - maybe it was the nervous tension of a solemn place; maybe it was the guilty relief of being the ones alive. It was still a good feeling; to laugh together for no reason, to have the same simple goal without pushing someone into it, to be outside in a warm snowfall that blanketed sound and sight until we were alone with our past and future. Make it all count, you can't always come back.
	</>
Lisa Higgs
.