covered

Today I visited a cemetary. Crosses. Rocks engraved with names. And resting gently upon them a layer the height of my fist of pure, white frozen water, each particle unique and intricate, whose beauty we so often ignore, for she is too difficult to see.

I followed the procession, slowly advancing, passing people by, one by one... We stopped at a group of stones. His wife and the others followed as Gerald, the son-in-law of the deceased, stepped through the snow between two, turned, passed one, and stopped next to a somewhat newer rock, freshly imparted with photos of the dead man, in his youth, in his middle-age, in his last days. As Gerald began to speak, I swept away the white from a small bench and laid upon it the black which I had been carrying on my shoulder.

I approached the others and listened to the speech of hope and comfort. Darkened glasses obscured my eyes, the beard warmed my jaw, and as soon as Gerald began to pray, the bells of churches around us filled our ears. He spoke louder and finished. He looked to me and followed me to the black box. Now would be a good time, he said quietly. I removed the case's contents and walked again through the earth's snow layer, the height of my head, and stood where Gerald had.

The bells still rang, and as soon as the german Adagio began to pour forth from my instrument, a third voice joined our group, the weeping of the humans around me.

With every passing moment my fingers became colder and stiffer. They did not want to make music in the winter air. Stop, they said, please stop moving us! I ignored their pleas and continued to perform with my grand ensemble. The viola became silent. The bells rested. The music continued.