Northern Michigan has quite a few of these grave markers, some in rather deep-wooded areas. When I happen across these, I can’t help but think of Mary Elizabeth Frye’s poem, A Thousand Winds that Blow.
Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.
