Nora... urged I post this, this private note to her, and the connective haiku comment I left at her blog, and that I conjoin them... as haibun. This, a recollection, then, of times passed, and I thank you, my young friend!
_We visited my father's grave as often as we could, he in North Western Connecticut, and we here. During those nine years I noticed no changes in that unpretentious country graveyard, or as some would call it, unkempt.
_Then my mother joined him; the day after her funeral, and only then, I noticed her freshly cut name and date... in the moss and ivy, and mold of their darkened cairn. Odd, how things can grow and change and be so unseen until that one instant of reality.
ivy and moss
on this old stone
a new name