Under the Cypress Trees

Under the Cypress Trees

15 June 2004

33 years old

Emily moved through the fog. Her footsteps were silent as she passed through the cemetery, the damp air pressing around her shadowy form. The dark, moss-covered headstones, muted and hazy in the stillness, canted this way and that, giving the place a gloomy air.

Not many people came to this place anymore, but for those whose loved ones lay in the newer graves. She followed them from the rusty, wrought-iron gate to the gravesite, where she hovered close and dared to touch. Many felt her as a cool breeze over a pale cheek or quivering hand, or the rising of arm or neck hair. Others, especially on cool, misty days such as today, when the mizzly air gave her weight, knew her presence as a soft pressure, a swirl of mist where there was no wind, a faint whisper in an ear. She meant to give comfort, but most people shivered and hurried through their respects, anxious to move on.

She sighed. How lonely she had become.

As she moved along the rows, guardian of this ancient graveyard, a movement caught her attention. A figure slunk through the fog around the corner of a crypt. She peeked around, but the figure slid quietly through the rows of tilted and broken headstones that marked the oldest part of the cemetery. She followed the figure to the hoary cypress trees that lurked at the edge of the graveyard, murky sentinels in the gloom, and slipped within.

When she stepped beneath the drooping canopy, the figure faced her and she stopped short. Now it was her turn to shiver. He reached out to her and said, “Come with me.”

She fell into his arms and wept with joy, for this was her beloved from a life long since abandoned. He felt solid and warm, sensations she hadn’t felt for nearly two centuries. Only he could kindle such warmth from her in life. Only he could ignite the cold embers in death. She’d waited a long time for him. The mossy fronds stirred from their embrace. She lifted her face to his, tears glistening on translucent cheeks, and said, “I am ready.”

He nodded and led her away, parting the mist in their wake.

photo by Eddie O’Bryan