This is the vernal equinox, and I feel day and night balanced. In this moment of profound uncertainty, my thoughts go out to those suffering as a result of war. I spent an hour walking around Wyuka Cemetery in Lincoln with Alec Miller, a kind of local historian. We talked of The Odyssey and high modernist poets while wandering between crypts and headstones and mausoleums. He is my friend. This is unlike other posts promoting businesses and parks because everyone has their own local cemetery. Going there casually is not morbid. It provides context and stability to read the names, to conceptualize a lifespan by dates engraved in stone. I noticed a tension between the loafing pace of the peaceful, old cobblestone paths and the frantic, speeding vehicles on O Street outside the burying ground. Maybe there is a double meaning in that, or maybe it is just me.
