Cemetery Witnessing

In the late 1970s I was a bricklayer, and for about half a year we worked in a new housing allotment along a state highway in Ohio. There were towns in the area, and a small city about 10 miles away, but at the time this was still countryside. 15 or 20 of the houses had their lots right on the highway, and across the road was a cemetery. As we worked, we could see all the traffic going along the road. One guy we saw every day. He was a small man, an older man, though it was hard to say if he was in his 50s, or 60s or even 70s. In the early afternoon he'd come down the road, and turn into the cemetery. After a time - usually about an hour - he'd leave, and this was 7 days a week, regardless of weather. The easy guess was that he was visiting his dead wife's grave. He sat absolutely still in the car, and the car made almost no sound. It was a small, light Plymouth or Chrysler, colored gray. Must have had a small, smooth engine - you could hardly hear anything. He always wore a hat, a light tan color, and his shirts were light gray or off-white. He drove slowly, staring straight ahead. That's what I really remember about him, the sense of slowness, quiet, an almost infinitely light touch upon the world.