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Misc

Not yet

I’ve really started to enjoy the short time I get at the mid-point of my run, looking out at the well-attended graves. “Not me,” I think to myself, “not yet.” It’s my own memento mori.

Each time I go for a longer trail run, my typical turn around spot is a part of the trail with a clearning next to a cemetary. I never thought about it much initially, but after a few times I started to notice that the graves all had fresh flowers on them everyday without fail. Some had balloons, cards, and other items as well. Who was putting all of this out regularly? Certainly not every grave had a family member coming out everyday? Whomever it was, they never missed a day it seemed.

The fact that these graves were always being remembered seemed to peak my own remembrance of this place and what it symbolizes, and I’ve really started to enjoy the short time I get at the mid-point of my run, looking out at the well-attended graves.

“Not me,” I think to myself, “not yet.”

And then I head back, still running and still very much alive. Any trouble or anxiousness that was rattling around on the way there seems insignifigant after seeing the graves and being reminded that it could certainly be worse. Would I rather it just be all over? What would they give to trade places and take on my little worries?

No, best to enjoy it while it lasts because it will end soon enough.

But not yet.

By Nick

I'm a father, husband, son. I love reading, drawing, writing, being active, having a beer or a glass of wine with my wife, and am curious about everything.

Comments welcome!