There was a man whose favorite place on earth was my dad’s
farm. He told his family that he wanted to be cremated and his ashes sprinkled on
top of the hill overlooking the apple orchard. The family honored his request.
My dad watched them as they said a few solemn words as the sun crept over the mountain and opened the
urn and dumped the ashes. If the swift breezes that are common to a Kentucky hilltop was one of things that endeared the man to this particular spot, he had left his family in the dark. Just as they turned him upside down, there was a gust
of wind followed by the family spitting the remains out of their mouth and brushing
him out of their hair.
All things considered, a nice ceremony.
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