Hearing:

Eugene’s Pioneer cemetery is mostly quiet on this brisk January morning. If you listen carefully though, you can hear the faint drilling of a construction sight and the echoes of a dance class instructor in a nearby building. Every so often though you can hear the rhythmic crunching of twigs beneath a passing student’s feet.

Smell:

The tombstones smell grainy and ancient. The damp soil has an earthy aroma. A burnt orange golden retriever happily trots between the tombstones, searching for a place to relieve himself. He finds a nice spot and plops down contently to do his business and soon an unpleasant smell wafts in the air around me.

Sight:

A shallow puddle of rainwater quivers in the slight wind and the tall redwood trees seem to slowly sway in its reflection. Dewdrops glisten and hang suspenseful from the dark green foliage above me. Dead bushes awkwardly sprout from graves as they wilt in the winter cold. In the middle of the graveyard is a trailer RV mounted on a plastic block. Next to it, an SUV with a wooden cart sits in the driveway. The sign on the garage reads “George’s Parking Only”.

Touch:

The moss is moist and furry. Brittle tree bark crumbles at the touch to reveal a stringy red interior.