An Eternity in Stone

The sky overhead was dark, lit with the dying embers of the last autumn sun, as it slowly dipped below the ridged stand of trees that encircled the clearing. The soft glow of fireflies streamed out among the wispy branches of the forest pines, and drifted through the fog drenched undergrowth below. The sky was lit with a sea of bright oranges and fiery reds, as the sun began to burn itself out, slowly giving way to an empty twilight. It was during this time that he came here, and walked among the cold headstones that lie strewn across the clearing, at a time when both the season and the sun itself seemed to die. 

He had come to see someone, and held a small bouquet of violets pressed within his clenched fists. He knew the graveyard was too secluded for anyone to see them, but he could not stand the idea of an empty vase adorning her headstone. Not after all she had been through. He said nothing as he walked, weaving in between crumbling and forgotten monuments, the light crunching of gravel underfoot barely audible over the chorus of crickets that sung softly from the wood. No emotion betrayed his face, a grim acceptance masking all of his features.

At one of the far corners of the yard, there sat a single grave, the only one which the moss had not yet overtaken. The graveyard was not used anymore, and it was only by request that she had been lain here, far away from the world which she had so desperately avoided. Finally making his way to the corner, he knelt before her grave, and wiped away the leaves that had piled on top of it. He ran his hands along the cool stone, wiping away a few cobwebs, so that the name Maria Ansley was visible once again, chiseled in thick letters onto the heavy stone slab.

He clenched his fists tighter, his face hardening. He moved his lips silently, as if trying to speak, then closed them without a sound. The damp earth had soaked through the knees of his pants, and the fall cold had begun to seep through his skin. He brushed a few leaves from the empty flower vase that sat in front of her grave, and placed the violets gently inside, careful not to let fall a single delicate petal. His fingers hurt from the biting cold of the stone, and he rubbed them together to warm them. The sun had now sunk completely behind the ridge line, bathing the small clearing in shadow.

His job now done, he sat before the silent headstone for a few more minutes, waiting for something he knew would never come. The sky above had faded from the burning red of sundown to the deep purple of twilight. Still, his face remained blank, any emotion carefully tucked behind a thick mask of stoicism, which silently reflected the indifferent headstone that sat before him. Then he stood, the freshly cut violets placed neatly in the small stone vase, and ran his hand along the contours of the carved name for the last time. 

He stood like this for another moment, not moving nor looking back, and stared at the stars above. The skies were clear tonight, and a celestial sea of stars spilled out across the night, each glowing with a silver light. He stared at them, every blank feature frozen in rapt attention. There where too many to count, each star floating in boundless tides of infinity. And somewhere out there, among the starlit confines of eternity, beyond the reach of death, he saw her name spelled out among the stars.

He glanced back at her headstone, and the now filled vase of flowers that sat before it. The headstone remained emotionless, staring with guarded apathy at the world beyond the clearing. The violets danced carelessly in the night air, a constant blur of bluish-purple, each effortlessly beautiful in their indifference. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathed in the cold autumn air, and listened to the soft chirping of the crickets. And, without a word, he slipped his bare hands into his thick jacket, and turned from the grave.