Dust of our ancestors

In this greenest of seasons here in the city built on sand dunes, I am noticing something strange in our backyard. Despite a bloom of sour grass and clover, the place where we excavated Buried Treasures from the 1880's remains bare.

Could it be that the ghosts of the past, having been excavated, are protesting going back where they belong?

Of course, the reign of the living, too, is a temporary matter. In the end we are all reduced to such dust; thus, we are all well-advised to walk gently on this earth, as we tread over the dusty bones of all of our common ancestors.

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