It was a rare, warm, sunny day. Roxie and Dolly and I walked around the neighborhood and then around the cemetery.

So many lovely things in the neighborhood.

A big-leaf maple just about to make some big leaves:

Poetry:

Tulips:

On the other hand:

I do understand shutting down all sports this spring. The NBA. High schools and colleges. Sabrina Ionescu. I thought the worst thing was no March Madness until I saw this in my neighborhood. If I hadn’t sold my basketball at my last garage sale, I would go up there and shoot hoops, just hoping to be chastised.

And I love to walk in my neighborhood cemetery. In fact, since I was a little girl, I have always loved to walk in cemeteries and read the stones and do the arithmetic and think about how long or how short peoples’ lives were. There’s so much history in cemeteries.

I particularly remember one year when I lived in southern Virginia. There is so much history there. I was always an explorer, sometimes going where I was not supposed to. Forgive me my trespasses.

One day, way out in a bunch of brambles, I came upon a 200-year-old burial plot. About six rather remarkable head stones. One large one commemorating a mother and her seven little children. Lord, have mercy.

I remember always visiting the graves of my great grandparents and later my grandparents — all of whom I knew — in the Durant cemetery and usually bringing a potted plant to set there. I remember Mama Harrison always squatting down at Papa’s grave and pulling a few imaginary weeds. She is buried next to him now.

It always interests me how people feel about grave decorations. Some families favor simple, flat grave stones that can be mowed right over, perhaps visiting once a year and placing a single lily.

Others find comfort in more elaborate arrangements. These decorations were new in the cemetery yesterday, although the burial was some years ago:

You can be sure Alfredo’s family will be there again on Easter.