My grandmother, Cuba Jon Miller Clark Reasor, once commented that she didn't want to outlive her children. Unfortunately, her oldest and my Dad, Terrence Miller Clark, died of a heart attack before her in December, 1973.
I found this old photo today, cleaning out a closet, of her and me at Dad's gravesite in Fairlawn Cemetery in Comanche, Ok, where he was also born. I do not remember the trip, but I recognize the old twisted tree--so fitting for Dad's artistic character-- that was next to his grave, and the irises at its base.
The tree is long gone, and so are the irises now, but I dug some up before that happened, and they're transplanted in my front yard...reminding me always of mortality and family.
Grandmother is gone, and so are Dad's four brothers. I was so thin and young. Time and mortality.
"When dawn spreads its paintbrush on the plain, spilling purple... ," Sons of the Pioneers song from TV show "Wagon Train." Dawn on the mythic Santa Fe Trail, New Mexico, looking toward Raton from Cimarron. -- Clarkphoto. A curmudgeon's old-fashioned newspaper column, cross-breeding metaphors and journalism and art, for readers in 150 countries.