The cold wind blows harder, and I huddle in my coat, Spring is late this year. Every time I think it’s arrived, winter returns for another visit. Even now, I glance up and see that the branches are frosted with snow. And in front of my, my shadow stretches in the watery yellow light, across the hole in the ground.
I know that I should go. They’re waiting, trying to hide their impatience. They’d rather be back in their warm cars–back to their lives–away from the empty silence of this barren landscape.
Pushing slowly to my feet, I toss the flowers I’ve been clutching in my frozen hands into the hole. They land with an oddly hollow thud that echoes in my chest, and I wonder if anyone else felt the impact. But, it’s clear they haven’t. Their eyes glimmer with barely masked impatience as they shift from foot to foot.
“Come on, Grandma. Let’s get you home.”
Shaking off his hand, I move, slow and steady toward the car, letting my fingertips drift across the tops of the headstones as I make my way past the ones I used to know.
Be sure to check out the other bloggers’ stories.