Clay had never seen such a glorious morning. The sky was a rich, deep blue, completely bare of clouds. A light breeze kept the air fresh, and the sun hung benevolently above them. Red, yellow, pink and purple wildflowers blanketed the grass, startlingly bright against the dark green leaves. In the distance, horses and cows grazed lethargically, tails swishing to flick the flies away from their legs and rumps. The animals provided a general soundtrack for the service—everything from a rooster crowing to the calves bawling—and Clay knew Mama couldn’t have asked for a better memorial. Every sound, every smell, every flower was something she used to cherish.
They had set up several rows of chairs in the small graveyard for Mama’s older friends and relatives, and small children fidgeted in the
