It is a desolate landscape
Mostly of grass, with few trees
Stone artwork litters the area
Dense near him, thinning towards the horizon
He stands, alone, the wind his only companion
Blowing against his back, gently edging him forward
One step, then another, distance shortening
His goal in sight
Even during the day it is the most haunting of place
Somehow burrowing through psychic defenses
Opening old wounds
Flooding the mind with memories
The stone is dark, with silver highlights
Polished to a reflective sheen
Smooth to touch, yet always cold
A reminder of an end
His motion stops before this stone bearing his family name
He spies his reflection
"Hard like stone"
His mind says
And he seriously wonders
Has he become just that?
Stone unyielding, unfeeling, cold , hard
Weathered only by time
Its color, hard contrast
To this dull environment
Fragility counters invulnerbility
A tiny dancer among monoliths
Its sudden appearance startles him
Yet the soft beautiful colors
Of its wings
Mesmerizing
A butterfly, symbol of those loved
Who have left us
A part of those who were, that remains behind
Helping the sorrowful and embittered
It lands on the stone
Directly above his father's name
Lies motionless for what seems hours
Yet is only really moments
Then flies off
Towards the horizon and disappears
A single tear forms in his eye
Gently rolling down his face, caressing each pore as it goes
"Goodbye Dad" he murmurs
His head hung low
He whispers a silent prayer
To this hard object erected in his father's memory
The wind his only friend
Supporting him lovingly
They stand together
In a museum of loss
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