You were the soft light, twinkling, twinkling until everything around you faded for his hands were on your neck until you couldn’t breathe.Your husband buried you off a beaten path near a small pond so the birds might come, and the wildflowers would grow. Later, winter set in. The air was cold, icy, and those crows, all of God’s creatures, screeched in the flat, grey sky as the winds howled through the tall pines.
Still, when spring arrived, wild pink sprouted, marigold, and the coneflowers, all of it, did bloom for YOU.