The journey begins. Squeezing my head, then torso and lastly my legs as I push through the paint-chipped bars of the rusted gates that are meant to keep them in and us out. But I break through. Through the gates guarded by the marble hierarchy of the heavens which stand so still. Setting foot on the mossy green blanket of those who are put to rest. Paying respects as I pass by the resting places where the “good ones” lay. Ritually signing the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit—from my head to my heart to the left then to the right. Bobbing and weaving through the marble sea, with hues of light gray and dark gray and every hue in between. I compete against myself to find the oldest dates, famous names and even relatives that could have been. The peaceful aroma of fresh blossoming flowers and warm lit candles offset the stale and steady breath looming in the air. Then suddenly, the silence has stopped. The silence comes to a screeching halt as the stark black crows, which hover above, come down to greet their guests both old and new. They scurry me along, off their land and onto the black tar road. The murder of crows scurry me off their land with scythes so sharp, and onto the black tar road. I make my way to the top of the hill. On the top of the hill stands the wisest of all the oak. Providing decades, hell even centuries of security and safety to those gathered around as well as bountiful fruit fallen from her hearty branches. It is as if Mother Nature humbled and grounded such a life in the heart of it all; to provide what is needed to survive (in this life and the next). Her branches extend as long and far as a mother’s embrace when in her arms. Her leave bristle in the wind as a melodious graceful manner. Supporting the life above and below the ground she stands on. Perched next to the tree is an ancient sea foam green water fountain, where broad breasted birds come to sing and dance on the stage of fallen leaves. The chirping birds are at peaceful play, carefully—without disturbing I stop for just a moment, then keep on my way. Heading for the mosaic I piece together with the broken cement pieces scattered around me. Along the cracked sidewalk there lies my stone, the place where I am one with nature, that is my home. Then everything stops. As I gaze upon the the sky that is painted in hues of lavenders and baby pinks. Picking out animals and objects that float through the sky. I think of then, and now, and the after. This is the bed, where I will lay, when the time comes, when it’s my day. Where my peace will soak up the ground as I sink into, falling slowly asleep into Mother Nature’s bed. Here lies me, where my name will be engraved in my gray stone bed.