This is a short description of a setting, the first assignment for my WRI241 (imaginative short fiction) class at Lane Community College in 2000.
She goes to the cemetery to try to take in the cold calm of the dead. Sitting under a tree, the scene takes her in. The tall, fragrant cedar, the wonderfully green Douglas fir, the bent and twisted madrone, and the leafless deciduous trees shelter the cold, damp earth from the setting sun's rays.
The crumbling headstones and statues of tribute to those who lived before seem to soak up the sound of the unseen streets where noisy automobiles and people go about their noisy lives. Instead, the lively sound of the birds, who reside in the branches far above the ground, seem to playfully tease those who are six feet under. The crows are unseen, but their presence is certainly made known by their grating caw of frustration.
The grass can be seen losing its battle against the stately Douglas fir. The needle strewn ground below the umbrella of branches is brown and dry. This is where she sits, contemplating the smell of the earth and the taste of advancing rain. She listens to what the wind says, rustling the branches above her head. He whines and moans and caresses her face and arms. He seems to cry for the dead as she cries for the living.
Twigs and needles fall to the ground and into her hair. They are cold and prickly. They make her skin itch as they scrape against her arms on their way to the hard, unforgiving earth.
A lonesome squirrel scurries over a nearby grave on his way to the warm shelter of his home. He knows that the storm will come with the setting of the sun. The overcast skies will release their torrents, and the wind will shake the trees to their roots.
A gust of wind blows a wave of brown needles in her direction, and with its passing, her arms are covered in gooseflesh and a shiver runs through her body. The ground soaks up any warmth in the air, and her breath leaves clouds of mist which are quickly thrown to the unforgiving wind.
As the dusk dims to something darker, wisps of fog begin to play around the headstones. She watches them as if they were ghosts of those who reside here. And, seeing their cold collected calmness, she finally feels at ease and is ready to once again face the vivid brightness of that which is her life.