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  • Yesterday I took a break from the waiting, sitting, talking, reading, sleeping, and walked out of the hospital, like a free man.
    I know exactly how lucky I am these days.
    There but for the grace go I.

    Where would my feet take me?
    I walked the promenade, along the spectacular bluff, by the mansions of city founders.
    I took one side street and then another.

    Where would my feet take, when my thoughts have been out of daily world into the other places beyond our reach.
    Where could I go when I have little patience for the machinations of the living.

    I came across the West Cemetery.
    It is a quiet and refreshingly unkempt place.
    Grass grows over graves there and trees grow around stone.
    Many stones are skewed or toppled or the words are eased by rain and snow of many seasons.
    The cemetery out on Gotts Island is old but has been tended with so much care that the dead might complain that they cannot get any rest with all the work going on above them.

    I saw him, a man, sitting, smoking and drinking among the stones.
    A Sunday drunk, hiding from the prying eyes of the living?
    Or was he a person, like me, who is tired of life, and wants to be alive in the company of deep time?
    A spirit perhaps, the smoke being the rarified vapors of his kingdom.

    The oldest graves I saw were the Neal family from 1779.
    There were many soldiers from the war of 1812.
    The most recent grave, I noted, ended in 1933.

    But I wasn’t there long enough to examine them all.
    I had the business of living to attend to.

    Like a free man, I walked out through the gate.
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