Taylor is singing as we hike the trails behind the cemetery. A wonderfully beautiful Saturday accompanies us today. A strong breeze envelopes us while we sit and stand watch over Fernwood. The wind carries with it conversations between people, between birds, the distant hum of engines and tires hugging Highway 1. The clouds are bright white and fluffy against a brilliantly blue backdrop. Mount Tam stared back at Taylor and me. Exquisite homes dot the hills.
The gravestones have their own talk amongst themselves. I’ve a feeling Taylor knows what they are saying. Dylan rests to the left of us, his grave unmarked. We found out he passed away less than six months ago, young and alive until the unexpected end. Sally Shields Norton lies to his left, 76 years old last year when she said goodbye. Taylor comes over and decides to sit between them.
Who are you Dylan?
What were your hopes and your dreams?
Why did you leave your wife and your parents?
Where are you now?
I am Dylan. I am not unlike you. Perhaps you are just like me.
My hopes and dreams are much like yours. And yours like mine.
I didn’t leave them, well maybe in the mortal sense, but I live on in their hearts and minds, and in your words.
I am everywhere now. “Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”
After a while, it’s time for us to leave.