Ashes to Ashes

Twenty years ago my parents reluctantly accepted that I wanted to move out west.  After my move came visits and their growing fondness and familiarity with Southern California.  Over a half dozen years ago my father asked if his ashes could be buried in my back yard in the desert.  "Oh, Dad, do we really need to discuss this now?"  His request seemed premature, macabre, and slightly odd.  Why the desert, a place he never lived?  But over time I understood his love for the mountains and arid heat, and so when he died in August I never doubted that a portion of his ashes would be scattered in Palm Springs.  This Thanksgiving my family gathered to honor his wishes.  I took them to a favorite trail head, and we scattered his ashes at the base and at a peak over looking a waterfall and canyon.  In life he abhorred heights, but in death I thought he'd want to soar above sea level with the birds.  The sun was setting behind the mountains, and the rising moon was in full view.  With tears we released him into the warm air.  Beautiful, but bittersweet day.  For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.  Genesis 3:19b