Awake And Dreaming
“All day she’d watched the visitors to the cemetery—joggers, bundled-up families pushing strollers, couples having earnest conversations. Many of the visitors were on Sunday walks but others had come to visit the graves of relatives. Beside the ghost a family stood around a grassy plot, shivering in the chilly air. They spoke in solemn voices and left some flowers in a tin.
“They’ll be wilted in a day,” muttered the ghost.
She watched a young man trim a holly bush in front of a marble tablet. He... came every Sunday to visit his mother’s grave. A growing shrub lasts, the ghost thought approvingly.
No one had ever left anything on her grave—not a single flower. On this dank January day her plot looked especially dreary, blanketed with the dead leaves that had lain there all winter.
The ghost strode along the path overlooking the sea, then sat on a step of the war memorial to watch the sun set. All the Sunday visitors had left. Crows circled the empty cemetery, reclaiming it with jeering cries.MoreLess
“They’ll be wilted in a day,” muttered the ghost.
She watched a young man trim a holly bush in front of a marble tablet. He... came every Sunday to visit his mother’s grave. A growing shrub lasts, the ghost thought approvingly.
No one had ever left anything on her grave—not a single flower. On this dank January day her plot looked especially dreary, blanketed with the dead leaves that had lain there all winter.
The ghost strode along the path overlooking the sea, then sat on a step of the war memorial to watch the sun set. All the Sunday visitors had left. Crows circled the empty cemetery, reclaiming it with jeering cries.MoreLess
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