The vicar intoned some solemn words as we stood around the grave. Heads bowed, umbrella handles firmly gripped, a rag-tag honour-guard for a much-loved wife, mother and friend.
Thoughts and memories skipped noisily between headstones like naughty children obliterating those final words of dust and ashes.
A quick glance at the surrounding countryside revealed a patchwork bedspread of distant crops awaiting harvest.
While here harvest is done.
All the while bumblebees enjoy the flowers of the Buddleia and life continues…
© Baldock Bard 2012