Last evening at sunset I was driving on National Avenue just past National Cemetery when I was drawn up short by a symphony of vivid colors that waved in the breeze above the sun-infused graveyard.
The vividness of deep red, white and blue were unfurled over rows of clean marble slabs which were respectfully organized to honor the memory of past American heroes. I turned my car into the open drive of the welcoming gate.
The sun was falling slowly behind the brim of the West.
Long shadows were gaining ground against the backsides of the stone memorials. There was a suffusion of peace falling upon the graves. I was compelled to linger there.
The vividness of deep red, white and blue were unfurled over rows of clean marble slabs which were respectfully organized to honor the memory of past American heroes. I turned my car into the open drive of the welcoming gate.
The sun was falling slowly behind the brim of the West.
Long shadows were gaining ground against the backsides of the stone memorials. There was a suffusion of peace falling upon the graves. I was compelled to linger there.
The peaceful harmonies of my feelings remained on key as I was drawn, as in a dream, to a particular marker-- Daniel Ivars, Rhode Island Infantry--a Union Soldier buried on foreign soil. As I drew closer, I noticed the date of death to be that day, May 26th and the year was 1863.
I suppose that the Confederate Sons, the very few who were brought from battle, are all buried in Cedar Grove Cemetery--a few miles away, near to the town proper. Still, it becomes an integrated reality in the perspective of 2010, that the same sun now rises and sets on the graves of all the soldiers of that confrontation.
I suppose that the Confederate Sons, the very few who were brought from battle, are all buried in Cedar Grove Cemetery--a few miles away, near to the town proper. Still, it becomes an integrated reality in the perspective of 2010, that the same sun now rises and sets on the graves of all the soldiers of that confrontation.
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