The Fade of a Rose (Day 8/365)
It was appropriate–the hour I spent with my camera in Mountain View Cemetery this morning as Jerry saw to having our car serviced. It was appropriate, for after we left the cemetery we drove to Inglewood (Los Angeles) and attended the very sweet funeral of my dear friend, June Webb.
Very sweet, I said the funeral was, and it is so. They’re just sweet people, the Webbs are, and despite having lost both their father and mother in a three-week period, the four grown children have retained a noble attitude, gracious and elegant. Paul sang, accompanied himself on a guitar as he squatted down before the congregation because he had no chair, nor neck strap. “Jesus, you’re everything to me.” Softly at times, then with pathos, he raised his sincere voice so that it was almost a wail. It was perhaps the most precious song I’ve ever heard at a funeral.
So then, my post of the day is dedicated to my friends who today buried their mother.
The rose was a single one, long-stemmed, placed in a solitary fashion on the ground before a tombstone in San Bernardino, CA.