Small Town Funeral
by BT ~ November 7th, 2009.There was a funeral in my small town for a Marine who was killed in Afghanistan. I saw the motorcyclists wearing leathers lined up outside the church door holding a series of American flags and I drove by as car after car of mourners rolled into the church parking lot.
And as I drove on about my daily business, I was struck by how the workings of an angry world and a war taking place on the other side of the planet can settle into my little town.
But there it was, as real as if someone’s grandma had passed. As real as the news. As real as that familiar church parking lot. Then just as I drove by, the complicated, sad, and familiar reasons of why there was a funeral in that that local church parking lot in my little town hit me.
Later, I was out walking by myself and I saw a great blue heron showing off as he flew around a salt marsh for only me to see. The air was crisp, the sky was brilliant and clear, the leaves had an orange last-burst-of-life hue, and I felt in awe, lucky to be alive – thrilled to live in a place where I could see what I was seeing. With wings spread, the heron glided to a tree top and settled in to look at the vista.
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