Klempner
Mitch…
I hear her clearly, telling Andersen to contact strangers I’ve never met…
She means well…
I leave the chatter behind. Above me, branches… grey-rinded, laced with lichen… shiver in the breeze, naked in the autumn chill.
Under the tree, the grass is sparser, scattered with the crisped five-fingered leaves of the chestnut. But the mound is green, sunken with the years into the turf.
The stone is small, carved from the local limestone I’d say.
Deanna.
Taken from us too soon.
Beloved Sister and Mother.
A small vase sits at the base of the stone, containing the wilted remains of wildflowers. I don’t know what they are; white and pink and blue; I saw something like them growing in the verges.
What does one do at a time like this?
I have no experience, no frame of re
