Zephaniah Bones was already dead when I met him, but I do miss his company anyway. Every time I would go to the old Baptist churchyard near the plant where I worked I would greet the denizens of the pioneer cemetery there as I walked past their stones as if greeting old friends.
Zephaniah's stone was in the far southwest corner of the cemetery, facing east by that ancient custom. It was slowly being swallowed by blackberry vines along with the stones of his family. I was charmed by the eccentric name of this early settler of Oregon, and wondered what sort of man he was.
With the dead there's no wonder if they'll remember you or look the same. His bones, if they haven't dissolved to nothing long ago, will carry on decaying. But I do wonder if old Zephaniah Bones' stone will still be visible if I ever get back to Oregon. I hope someone clears the weeds.
This song goes out to Zephaniah Bones. Because how could I forget a name like that?