Mrs. Mead arrived early
the next morning as she usually did and was preparing hot oatmeal for breakfast
when Ream came into the kitchen from the bedroom.
As Mrs. Mead spread
butter on toast, she said, "A friend of mine in Prescott told me Sally's
son died in a Texas hospital."
"Oh, my God-- do you
know when?"
"My friend said the
obituary indicated it happened yesterday and stemmed from a complication
connected with an impending heart operation. The funeral home is having
the service tomorrow at 12:00 noon, open to friends, and the burial is
scheduled a little later at Cliff Side Cemetery."
"Mrs. Mead, something
tells me I should be there. I think I need to be close to Sally. Would
you take me?" Ream's words didn't begin to convey the sorrow or compassion
he was feeling for the woman who had come to mean so much to him.
"Of course I will.
People need the comfort of friends when they lose a loved one. I'll be
happy to take you."
The next day Mrs. Mead
drove Ream to Prescott. The conversation during the ride gravitated back
to Ream's hesitancy in meeting Sally. Ream struggled with the complication
of his feelings and explanation.
"Mrs. Mead, It's still
not the right time or place to meet Sally. Meeting her under these circumstances
would be a shock to her. It would just compound her ordeal into something
very confusing. As much as I care and want to be there, It's just not the
right time yet."
"I think maybe you're
right, Ream. What would you like me to do?"
"I'd like to go to
the cemetery, but keep me in the background and out of sight."
When they arrived at
the cemetery, the caravan from the funeral home was parked near the grave.
Mrs. Mead parked her car out of site, but within hearing distance. About
fifty friends and the immediate family, including Sally's father, were
gathered under a canopy.
The graveside service
was brief. Gus Meeker stepped to the podium surrounded with flowers and
took off his hat, and bowed his head for a moment.
"Got to know Johnny
when we were both in the hospital together. In those days of crisis for
both of us, we became good friends. I'm not sure what all to say, but I'll
read a poem which has a lot to do with all this. These words are spoken
as if from a deceased cowboy."
In Every Sunset
My departing brings you the Holy Spirit.
As if in a blanket of heavy clouds,
silent thunder, surrounding.
Speaking past the bottom of words.
A
presence reaching through you.
A glimpse of the eternal, a state,
not time. What I became, still is; but
now exists amidst this Holy Presence.
I exist among the crimson clouds at sunset,
as radiant light aflame in golden mist.
In gray clouds at dawn, I breath the silver,
to sparkle morning dew.
As
you lay sleeping
I will come in your dreams.
As an old cowboy unsaddling his horse,
at trail's end near Heaven's Gate.
A cowboy with saddle, shoulder slung
walking glory road toward that gate.
And still bridled, his horse follows, unled,
because his brother now packs the load.
While the horse stands in devotion, the
old cowboy opens the gate. Walking to
the other side, the cowboy kisses
toward an old friend, who follows.
In the dream, you'll know it's my horse
because of what that horse meant to me.
Over the
horse's ears, my hands will
reach,
to gently remove the bridle.
And, weeping
glad tears,
an old
cowboy
will set
his horse free.
A
double heart beat
will pass as each,
the cowboy and his horse
lament one more ride.
His nostrils will flair, breathing the choice,
and his eyes will glint the ancient knowing.
And, as tail shoots skyward, my horse will
gallop into the clouds, from where he began.
Then
as sunset fills a golden sky
The old cowboy will reflect
on times, and rides gone by.
When in the distance,
the sound of
Galloping hoofs.
A
faithful horse returns,
claiming the circle of freedom.
His choice, to return, the reflection
of how he was treated, always let free.
And
so, when you awaken
you will know the dream was real,
because weeping glad tears,
you will set me free.
And just as the old cowboy's
horse circled in freedom,
We will meet again in every sunset,
weeping glad tears.
When Gus finished, the
casket was lowered into the earth, and the service completed. Sally and
Timothy lingered a few minutes while friends consoled them. Sally thanked
Gus and asked if she might call him sometime. Gus welcomed her call and
told her he'd be happy to talk anytime.
As the cars filed from
the cemetery the air was fresh with the scent of flowers. When everyone
was gone. Ream had Mrs. Mead walk him over to the grave.
Ream took off his hat
and stood in reverence remembering Sally, the uniqueness of their connection,
and the uniqueness of Gus's Sedona sunset description. He remembered
how every Sedona sunset uniquely eclipsed the last, and how before
it, hundreds of tourists would leave as if they were fleeing from their
real reason for coming. 
It was then Sedona
would come home to itself. Clouds which worked hard all day to soften light
over Sedona's salmon bluffs, returned for their final duty at dusk; to
light the sky as great silver-ivory chandeliers glowing in peace.
Back-lit as such,
the great nutmeg stone-centurions fell to their knees, then to be
knighted by radiant swords of gleaming gold from the westerly sky.
All was ephemeral,
but yet to be renewed again and again in the morrow.