ant crawling up white
Crows cackled overhead, a bird of a different kind cawing above. He stood staring. The wind was cool, the ground beneath him just the right interlude between soft and firm. It was sunny above, but not too hot. This kind of day was rare in this country.
He stood and stared. There was an ant crawling up the side of one of the white steel sides. He had been meaning to come. He had made the plan to. He hadn’t known why then. Even now, he didn’t know why he came. Maybe it had become habit. But he had meant to come, ever since November of ‘18, when it had happened. And yet, that had somehow never happened. And then he had run away, left, flown the coop in February of ‘19, never to return. And yet, here he was.
Trees lined the plot, gnarly branches spreading their fingers out, green leaves providing a cover, a shade that was not needed today but was welcome most days. He could smell the green in the air, the earth rolling off his tongue, tasting of things ancient and homely.
When he had returned the next November, he had decided to visit. With the same intention, I’ll come every Sunday. He hadn’t. Not every Sunday, but he made it a point to visit once a week. Slowly, that turned into habit. Slowly that turned into Mondays. He stopped by on his way to work.
He felt a stirring inside him. His eyes were clouded, hidden behind his shade changing glasses.
He didn’t know why he made the trip. To feel something? To make his father proud? He did way too many things seeking his father’s approval. Or maybe he was taking his introspection to extremes.
He felt a stirring inside. It wasn’t sorrow. It wasn’t joy. Why he would feel one of those things, he didn’t know. It wasn’t exactly something he could place or identify as a major emotion. He could write up some plenty of pretty words to describe it. Given the context, maybe he could identify and explain it better. But it wasn’t generally felt variations of any emotion he could place.
He walked around what he was looking at. The ant was now crawling down the side of the small white steel girders that supported a sign.
The birds were cawing cheerfully. Traffic was rumbling loudly outside, incessant horns, and screeching tires as motorcycles careened impossibly past cars and avoided near collisions. Inside this compound, the noises from outside were inexplicably muffled. The sound didn’t come over the walls. Out of respect, maybe?
He sprinkled some pink flowers onto the grave of his grandfather. He felt the stirring, the rumbling. He felt something. In pretty words, the loss and sorrow of the impermanence of life and all its decay. Ok, maybe not that pretty. He looked at his watch. Time slowly ticking by. It didn’t stop when those dear to you were buried six feet under the earth. It just kept on ticking. He took a deep breath, looked at the white steel headstone, turned and walked away.