Crosses on the road
I saw this all the time in rural Kansas. A small cross on the side of the road, embellished with a bouquet of waterproofed flowers and other ornaments. It seemed like another part of the scenery, so sometimes I forget exactly what they represent.
When I see them in urban areas, I'm surprised into remembering. I saw one on the median of the highway I take to tennis tonight.
They make death real for me. I don't know why. I think about who put it there, and why, and the ornaments make me think about a real person who took her last breath on that very spot.
It's morbid. But I love the memorials. I like knowing people still remember the ones they loved, and keep a piece of them alive for others to know. I like the ritual and thought that goes into the little altars.
When I see them in urban areas, I'm surprised into remembering. I saw one on the median of the highway I take to tennis tonight.
They make death real for me. I don't know why. I think about who put it there, and why, and the ornaments make me think about a real person who took her last breath on that very spot.
It's morbid. But I love the memorials. I like knowing people still remember the ones they loved, and keep a piece of them alive for others to know. I like the ritual and thought that goes into the little altars.
Labels: ritual
1 Comments:
Hon, this so totally reminded me of a song from DBT's Southern Rock Opera.
Here are some lyrics:
Them, M.A.D.D. mothers couldn't help him. He was sober, it was Sunday. He was full of good home cooking when he crashed the savior's door.
Plastic flowers on the highway. A greasy spot on the asphalt for a while.
Every morning, new babies being born, who'll do the best they can to hang around a little while.
Kelli
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