Today is cold and windy and we are not inspired to drive far from our warm homes. Sue and I head east up County Road 345 in search of a good site for page making in our Journey Daybooks. I am feeling melancholy on this grey day. We picnic by the side of the road with a herd of familiar woods cattle. Then, driving back roads, we settle at the cemetery.
I write: A friend’s daughter is buried in this place. Julie’s short life is marked by tokens and memorabilia, which were tossed by last night’s wind. We straighten these as we absorb the sights and feelings of the grave and its markers. I am most touched a little green bird feeder that hangs from a cedar tree that shades this place of repose. Lively birds, dart about in the glimpses of setting sun Sue and I accidently happened on this place, or did we? The solemn mood fits.
Someone’s grey and white pet cat, lies dead by the side of the road.
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