Sunshine broke through gaps in the storm clouds as Danica walked along the concrete path. It spilled over the vast expanse of grass and flowers, the bright rays lessening the heaviness that sat on her chest. From trees surrounding her came birdsong that promised the beginning of Spring and new starts.
It seemed strange to Danica that she would admire the beauty of the place when the serenity was broken up with cold, grey headstones. The more densely packed the graveyard became, the more her shoes began to scuff against the pavement, her movements lethargic as the flowers hung limply in her hand.
In all the time she had visited there, the frequency had never changed. Every week like clockwork, she would buy the same flowers from the same shop, visit the same grave and say the same things.
