And when I wake up from the dream about moving the grave—whose grave, where to? I read Chris Hedges writing from his family graveyard, and I think of the graveyard parakeet silhouetted in a bare tree by the lagoon in what I've come to think of as our graveyard. And then Mr. Hedges is in Our Town, thinking about the dead girl who returns to her 12th year, and no one can see or hear her, but we hear her,

And she says:

Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you. 

Thornton Wilder, Our Town