Gone But Not Forgotten
The old country cemetery had its share of aged markers. In the deep woods of East Texas, the tall pine trees were like cathedral pillars over and inside this hallowed place. The wind moaned as it blew through them, giving the sense sound of a soothing yet faraway, other-worldly place. The names of the lives laid there under those pines left no trace of the wonders, the trials, the failures, heartaches, and success these buried souls may have had. Now they lay here beneath the moaning pines taking their secrets into the loamy soil with them. Who did they love? Who loved them? Now they are so silent yet once the passion of life coursed through their veins. Did it matter? Did they matter in the grand scheme of things? Will I matter? Off to the side and in the back of the old cemetery was a section grown up in weeds. I wondered if that was a section where they buried black persons. To my surprise, one day, I was told that blacks and whites were once buried in separat