But with every ploughing, you'd think it was stone they were sowing
We buried Autolycus at the foot of a forsythia tree and built his cairn of the stones that came up in the digging, the glacial till of New England. The pine cones came from the local edge of woodland, beyond which lies the reservoir. It was grey and brightening in patches of torn cloud while we worked. We will add stones for memory each time we return.



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Thank you. I don't like anything about this warming world, but it was selfishly convenient that we did not need to hack his grave out of the frost line like a polar explorer.
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I'm glad of that, at least. *hugs*
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We did still end up using a pickaxe.
*hugs*
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The cairn will become a tower.
I collected some white pine pine cones like that and made a door decoration this winter, and when the December holidays were past, I put them out on the railing of our deck. To my complete surprise, they were a huge draw for chickadees, tufted titmice, juncos, and even cardinals, who must be investigating them for seeds.
So maybe spirit-Autolycus can chitter at the birds that investigate the pine cones on his cairn.
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We have a lot of memories.
So maybe spirit-Autolycus can chitter at the birds that investigate the pine cones on his cairn.
I love this idea. Thank you.
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*hugs*
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Thank you.
*hugs*
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*hugs*
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Thank you. He will be flowers.
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*hugs*
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*hugs*
Thank you.
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*hugs*
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*hugs*
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Thank you. I hope so.
*hugs*
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*hugs*
Nine
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I trust you.
*hugs*
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Thank you. He batted most deftly.
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*hugs*
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Saying goodbye to those that we love is never easy, but it sounds like he had a good life, and yes, may he turn into beautiful flowers. <3
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Thank you.
*hugs*
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*hugs*
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What a truly beautiful burial. Next time I see a lovely pebble I will pick it up for him.
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Thank you.
*hugs*
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Thank you so much. He was that dear to me.
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Thank you.
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Thank you.