I'm eating lunch in the graveyard again today. I packed up a sandwich and some other junk in my backpack and hiked up the ridge.
The fire maples have turned, lighting the hill with red and orange, running along the edge of the cemetary and stretching vainly in. Their brother trees standing by the headstones have already lost their leaves, their trunks and limbs turned dry grey like the set of a cheap horror film.
Usually when I come I'll set up by the low, ground-flush stones and spread my blanket out; but today I'm eating next to the Anglican Angel. I guess since it's so near Halloween, its grasping, bronze-cloaked arms and spread wings just seem right.
According to the epitaph this grave marks Gabriel Ramses' last resting place: "Loving husband, father, preacher. He taught us the joy of observance and showed us the reality of Hell. Not dead, only sleeping."
Sheesh. Sounds like a great guy. I--------