Dead man walking

Dead man walking

My mother comes from a small village in Latvia. As I was growing up this is a story that she related occasionally to the family, which she says was true.

One day, a man who used to live in this village was returning to it, after many years absence. Walking up the pathway to the village he met a man that he recognized who was leaving the village going in the opposite direction. They greeted each other as old friends and chatted awhile.

They were interrupted by the sound of large crowd of people walking in a procession not far away. They were walking up a hill closely carrying something. They were making all kinds of noise, crying and carrying on.

“What’s that?” the man who had been away awhile asked his friend.

“Oh that? That’s just some manure they’re carrying away!”

Rather surprised by this answer, the visitor thanked his friend and continued on into the village. The second man continued to walk away.

When the visitor entered the village he asked again about the noisy procession. He was told it was a funeral – and not just any funeral. It was the funeral of the same man he’d talked to just a few minutes before. The same man he’d chatted with had actually just died and was being buried up on the hill. The man was left speechless.

So it would appear that life goes on and on and on and on… Onto the next chapter, onto another verse.

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