I much enjoy taking to my own mode of transportation, or what I like to call 'The Ankle Express', it's the footwandering kind of travel that has led me to fascinating feats and finds.
During my travels afoot, I've bumbled into a lovely and oh so wandery spot nestled between the bay and the Pacific Ocean in the quaint city of Point Loma.
High above the crashing waves below, sits a site that's rich with history and untold tales, a place screaming to be happened upon.
It also happens to be the Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery, the final resting place for thousands of
soldiers, many nameless. A quiet place of buried memoirs.
It's a vast gravesite with 101,079 graves, and these days its grounds are closed. There is no longer space available for new casketed remains, so only traces of memories lay frozen in time within this serene, peaceful environment.
It's a really, rather lovely place for someone fascinated with antiquity and bygone times. A place for someone like me to find solace when little else makes sense in the hustly-bustly, nowaday world.
There's just something about cemeteries that leaves you feeling so alive.
I've made a sort of friend along the way in this calming place, and although we've never met face to face, nor never will, I share and cherish my strong connection with Thomas.
You see, my friend Thomas here is no ordinary boy.
He only lived to see a slight window of time. Just barely one day on earth, a lifespan cut far too short.
I wonder what Thomas saw, heard, and felt on that day.
I wonder what thoughts raced through his tiny head, and can only hope that someone held him for the duration of his brief visit here.
I've tried to discover more details about baby Thomas, but despite the vast sphere of the webular world, I know little of him other than what is etched into the face of his tombstone.
I stop by every now and then to pay him proper visits, no less. Usually, I find a cozy spot adjacent to his grave marker in the grassy area beneath the sun. This resty plot of land is so very lovely as it overlooks the sea from above. Here, I read aloud to him.
I read him tales of grand adventures, epic sword fights, shiny treasures, pirate ships of perfectly creaking wood, talking woodland creatures, journeys to the center of the earth, enchanted hunters, little men and women, and other snippets from the childhood greats.
It's just my way of giving him some sort of childhood, and a good excuse to get lost up in my headspace.
Besides, I doubt that anyone's ever read to him.
...but therein hangs the unknown tale of the young boy who lived to see only one day.
Farewell sweet Thomas, as I tuck you away with the sun now setting sleepily behind you.
I'll be back for more storytime.
Be well, my beautiful friend.