(Open to any and all who'd like to add something to remember someone lost. Dead, isn't dead in Rhy'din but there are those who are lost, sleeping, or simply absent. This is the first of several memorial parks the redneck has planned, and the beginning of this one came as a promise to a grieving friend.
As of right now, this is basically a blank slate and is intended to be ever evolving as people add their own touches here and there.
In short, have fun with it!)
The build up had been a few weeks in the making. An entire neighborhood had watched with growing hope and excitement as a collection of eyesores had been razed to bare earth. Now, the actual work could begin.
Carts upon carts of green plants, flowers, shrubs, trees. Rolls of sod, bags of grass seed. Stacks of pavers, piles of rocks and boulders. Towers of timbers and metal. A forest of shovels, hoes, pick axes, an armada of wheel-barrows and gardener's wagons. All neatly lined up just inside the entrance of the field.
On a table were sign up sheets, listing pages. Here any, all, who wished to have the name of a lost one shared were encouraged to do just that. Later plaques would be added, once the designated feature was established, with the original requester's chosen wording.
By mid-morning there were already a number of people out and working. Some were planning their additions carefully, others were adding what appealed to them as they saw fit. A few were working together to begin a playground on one end for the children, a few more were working on designing the beginning of a wood in another corner. Path ways were already beginning to meander their way through what would, hopefully, one day, become gently rolling, bumpy little hills for children, and adults, to roll down laughing.
The redneck settled back, waiting and watching, a small smile tugging at the edges of her lips. Her paladin had fallen in, fallen to with a passion to hide the hitch in his heart, to dim the tears in his eyes. Her Beloved was waiting, biding his time with an arm around her waist and a brush of warm, soft lips across her brow in pride.
With a nod she sent the crow winging from her place on the fence. Singing her rust-voiced song, the bird went off to circle 'round a certain actor's yard and home to announce the breaking of ground. And on again, to hunt down a certain scarecrow.
The first of several birthed by a Promise, this memorial park was well underway, though it would never truly be finished.
As of right now, this is basically a blank slate and is intended to be ever evolving as people add their own touches here and there.
In short, have fun with it!)
The build up had been a few weeks in the making. An entire neighborhood had watched with growing hope and excitement as a collection of eyesores had been razed to bare earth. Now, the actual work could begin.
Carts upon carts of green plants, flowers, shrubs, trees. Rolls of sod, bags of grass seed. Stacks of pavers, piles of rocks and boulders. Towers of timbers and metal. A forest of shovels, hoes, pick axes, an armada of wheel-barrows and gardener's wagons. All neatly lined up just inside the entrance of the field.
On a table were sign up sheets, listing pages. Here any, all, who wished to have the name of a lost one shared were encouraged to do just that. Later plaques would be added, once the designated feature was established, with the original requester's chosen wording.
By mid-morning there were already a number of people out and working. Some were planning their additions carefully, others were adding what appealed to them as they saw fit. A few were working together to begin a playground on one end for the children, a few more were working on designing the beginning of a wood in another corner. Path ways were already beginning to meander their way through what would, hopefully, one day, become gently rolling, bumpy little hills for children, and adults, to roll down laughing.
The redneck settled back, waiting and watching, a small smile tugging at the edges of her lips. Her paladin had fallen in, fallen to with a passion to hide the hitch in his heart, to dim the tears in his eyes. Her Beloved was waiting, biding his time with an arm around her waist and a brush of warm, soft lips across her brow in pride.
With a nod she sent the crow winging from her place on the fence. Singing her rust-voiced song, the bird went off to circle 'round a certain actor's yard and home to announce the breaking of ground. And on again, to hunt down a certain scarecrow.
The first of several birthed by a Promise, this memorial park was well underway, though it would never truly be finished.