There is a murder of crows flying over the graveyard. One such creature separates from the group and spirals downwards to land on a massive conifer. The blackbird squawked twice, seeming to direct our attention down. Far off to the left, up closer towards the building, a small gathering of mourners comforts each other amid flowers meant to convey joy. Though, they are only beacons of haste today.
One man stood by like a baroque statue, unshakable in his reserve. Held in his embrace, was a woman in mourning. Like a thing carved, he gazed down at the gravestone with eyes wide and dark grey from wear.
Let’s move on. These moments are not ours to share in.
In the same cemetery, and under the same azure sky, that lone crow regarded two brothers, both undertakers for the Sunset Hills Memorial Home, who were finishing up their break.
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