Blending In

     I’ve been working up in the Oysterville Cemetery for the last several days, double-checking names and dates on tombstones to make sure the records I keep for the Cemetery Association are accurate.  I love being up there among so many old friends.  It’s quiet and beautiful, though a little bit on the chilly side at this time of year.
     As I work from plot to plot, I enjoy looking at the old stones and their lovely intricate carvings.  I am concerned that some of them have become so worn that they are barely legible and am considering proposing a fund-raiser to have them refurbished.  A few of the stones have fallen off their bases, too, the ancient cement finally succumbing to the weather.
     There are silk or plastic flowers on many of the graves, their bright colors incongruous with the grays and greens of winter.  On my mother’s grave there was a doll’s wide-brimmed cloth sunhat – or perhaps it was a sachet in the shape of a hat.  Whoever left it certainly knew her!  Mom was known for her hats of many shapes and colors – one or more for every outfit!
     On Sunday, I felt that someone was looking at me as I made my way among the stones.  It wasn’t an eerie, ghostly feeling; not the kind that raises the hair on the back of your neck.  I just felt as if I were being carefully monitored.  I looked around several times before I saw the staring eyes and who belonged to them.  A large doe as still as a statue!  She looked as though she had been purposely placed amid the gravestones as ‘cemetery art.’  She didn’t blink an eye as I took her picture and she was still in the same spot, same position, when I left an hour later.
     I half expected the big doe to be there when I returned yesterday, but she wasn’t.  Maybe today.