Etiquette of Death

how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death
from "Buffalo Bill's," by e.e. cummings

"But now he is dead. Why should I fast? Am I able to bring him back? I will go to him, but he cannot return to me!’” 2Samuel 12:23


Here in the South, we stop for death. Rarely acquainted with the deceased--if we were we would be in the long line of cars with  lights on in daylight--we pull over on the side of the road, turn off our radios, speak in whispers if at all, and watch. The effect is one of an honor guard, two rows of cars, one on either side of the road, even four lanes, stretching along the highway in anticipation.


Et tu, Brute? Oh, yes. We, too, someday.


Will the world be too busy then to observe the ancient rituals marking our passage? Only the young ignore or are ignorant of the rule. It's not written in a book or a code. They must wonder as they drive their white Mustangs or black Chevy pick-up trucks past the line of cars. Yet they do not stop.


Yet.