it was quiet outside like sundays can be but not calm. it feels like breakdown. r. did a test drive, we went to the graveyard, the section for the jewish dead was more overgrown, prime coyote habitat, and i noticed a sign saying private property, not part of the main graveyard. the trees live their lives out, pushing up gravestones, falling onto headstones. the grass grows over baby stones. some have let freedom ring banners, whirlygigs  and plastic flowers. a lot of stories are silent in these grounds. they would be lost in the world now. i feel bereft of those strangers' stories somehow. because mine will join them, though i won't be buried there, not in the jewish section, or the gentile, but i could imagine resting under a tree on that little peninsula in the lagoon where the herons nest. yesterday i thought it was sunday, i said to bob's man, there's a different vibe on sunday, and he said yeah. he didn't show much but he was thinking i could see and i thought after oh we must have met before, surely bob knew me, and then i thought oh, it's not sunday, and now it is, and my heart is anxious, and it feels like the bereft feeling is simply the sense of life.