The Morning the Grave Went Quiet
The funeral was held three days later at the edge of town, where the forest gives way to headstones and people pretend the boundary is permanent.
They came out of obligation more than affection.
Pastor Lewin spoke words that sounded rehearsed even to him.
I stood at the back holding a single white flower, wondering if grief could be felt by things that didn’t speak our language.
Then the birds went silent.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It was worse.
Like the land itself had stopped breathing.
The sound came next.
Slow. Heavy.
