Grass and clover is beginning to grow between the rocks on Red’s grave.
When we placed the rocks on top of the earth where Red is buried, I kept picturing a grave from an old cowboy movie. Rocks piled on dry desert earth. Or a burial on the prairie, a pioneer, making her way to the west coast, leaving a loved one behind, hoping the rocks would keep the wolves away.
I didn’t think of life growing between the rocks, growing taller than the rocks, growing over the rocks.
But of course, that will happen. Every year I chop away at the grass as it creeps over the stone paths in our yard.
We don’t live in the desert, where pottery shards from a thousand years ago can still be found in the ruins of an ancient Native American village. Here, all the Indian mounds have been plowed under long ago. Almost all evidence of life before the Europeans came, is buried beneath layers of soil or pavement.
Wheels over Indian Trials, I still remember seeing these words, stenciled on the overpass on the way to my grandmother’s house, in Queens NY. I was just a kid and didn’t understand their meaning, but they grew with me.
Just because we don’t see something, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
I would have planted a flower on Red’s grave, but the donkeys and sheep would just eat it. The grass and clover is inspiring me though. Maybe in the spring I’ll throw some pumpkin seeds between the rocks and see if they grow too.