Majorly Masked
The man in the antique store said the graveyard was just around the bend, directly above a rural highway. Locations in New England are clumped together, condensing each road trip into hyphenated drives, so you are never in the car for long. But it wasn’t until we were halfway there that I realized the man was saying Coolidge, not Coleridge. It wasn’t nearly as exciting anymore, but I still toyed with the idea of Coleridge being buried across from a cheese factory in a small town in Vermont.
