IT IS THE EVENING OF THE DAY
I'm hearing the melody of the Rolling Stones' As Tears Go By. I don't know why. Songs come to me much as words do - from out of the blue. I'm singing the first line, It is the evening of the day. And it is the evening of the day but I'm not shedding tears.
It was another one of those days again when the sun and clouds battled to be seen. There was no rain. My mother had been waiting for such a day when the family could get together and pay respect to my paternal grandparents at the cemetery. We called it walking the mountain. In the old country the burials were in the mountains. Our village was called Mountain Top.
We bring food, light incense and burn paper money for my grandparents. We bow and pour libation on their graves. After we all have paid our respect, we have lunch. Then we pack up and go home to come again next year. It's harder to get everyone together, especially now the kids are adults. Some are in other cities for school or jobs. We do the best we can. I value honouring and remembering our ancestors. It is where we came from. I hope the young people do, too.
Now it is the evening of the day. I am tapping out my words and thoughts across the screen. I am feeling more mellow in the darkness of the night, even though the quiet is pierced by the sound of sirens of an ambulance and police car(s). Music from next door drifts through the open window. It is hard to find perfect silence. Maybe it is only possible in my mind.
Original Post @onethousandandtwo