The 119 acres of St. Peter 's Cemetery lie blanketed by the season 's first snowfall . A hush fills the air ; the only sound is the wind blowing accumulated snow , like confectioners ' sugar , off the branches of nearly bare trees . I enter through the gate on Lucas and Hunt Road , thinking back to a decidedly different day in late August . The sun was bright and hot for late summer . The verdant oaks and elms soared to the sky . I have written down the grave I am seeking : Section 10 , Block F , Lot 12 , Grave 4 . Inside the cemetery office , I inquire how to find this particular grave in this vast space . An employee looks at the number scribbled in my reporter 's notebook . `` Oh . '' I look at him , not knowing at first what to make of his reaction . From behind the counter , he whips out a photocopied flier . `` You 're looking for Michael Brown , right ? '' I nod , yes , and glance at the flier . It 's a cemetery map . I see Brown 's name and a hand-drawn line pointing to the lot where he is buried . The fliers became necessary because so many visitors asked the same question I did . Several have already been here today , says the man behind the counter . Even in this cold . I head down St. Peter 's Drive to the intersection of Hickory , just as the man instructed . I see why a marked map is necessary . There are rows and rows of graves . The sections are not marked , and the headstones are low and not that distinctive . I am searching for something that says his name : Michael Brown . Such a common name , I think . How many Michael Browns do I know ? At least six that I can recall in an instant . But I can not find him . I study the flier , fluttering in the frigid wind , and discern that he is somewhere between others whose names are marked on the map . Bradley . Wilder . Hamilton . Then , I see the footprints , fresh on the snow . The rest of the field is pristine , but there has been a flurry of foot traffic here . I follow the footprints to a small bouquet of plastic flowers , red and purple , planted in the ground . There is not yet a headstone at Brown 's grave . I stand where Brown 's parents wailed as their son 's casket was lowered on August 25 into a copper vault . Sixteen days before , he had been shot dead by Ferguson police Officer Darren Wilson . One minute , the 18-year-old stood 6 feet 4 . The next , he fell to the ground on Canfield Drive . His blood colored the dull asphalt . He lay there for four hours . Photos of his body on social media heightened the anger over a police officer 's killing of an unarmed black teenager . Brown became a symbol . What # Ferguson stands for . We all know what happened in the days and weeks afterward . What a contrast there is between those days and this one . Hot against cold . Fury against calm . A tale of two streets in Ferguson . A black hearse carried Brown 's gold and black casket through the streets of St. Louis on that late August day . A white horse-drawn wagon delivered him to his final resting place . A photograph taken after everyone was gone shows a spot in the field where grass was disturbed and the dirt turned and showered with a burst of red and white roses . Now nothing remains but the plastic flowers . Almost three long months have passed . Ferguson is not resolved . It 's her Ferguson -- and it 's not all black and white . What would Brown think if he could see what is happening in his name today ? Perhaps he would approve of the demands for justice and calls for reform . But how would he feel about the violent protests ? About the way his hometown , just a few miles from here , waits with fear and anxiety for a grand jury decision ? His name was so ordinary . His headstone , I presume , will make it a tiny bit less so : Michael O.D . Brown . That 's what the copper vault said . But through death , his life turned out to be anything but ordinary . Michael O.D . Brown 's exit from this world unleashed a seething anger and sparked a new conversation about an age-old problem . Some people believe him to be a thug who shoved the clerk at the Ferguson Market and Liquor and then stole Swisher Sweets cigars . Some people believe he provoked Wilson , the police officer . But those who make the pilgrimage to his grave site , I imagine , see him another way . As a loving son , a brother . Or perhaps as a hero , a martyr of sorts . I wonder what else his headstone might say . Standing at his grave , I feel the cold invade my bones . I get back in my rental car and leave the quiet of St. Peter 's to return to the storm of Ferguson . Follow CNN 's Moni Basu on Twitter .
Nearly three months have passed since Michael Brown was laid to rest . Fliers help visitors navigate the cemetery , where headstones are indistinct . Those making the pilgrimage to his grave site do so for a variety of reasons . Brown 's death in Ferguson sparked a new conversation about an age-old problem .