At the cemetery a recent mowing has scattered dried grass over the gravestones. A careless, hurried, but well-intentioned chore with all the busyness of day to day life -life oblivious to the repose and stillness of those beyond the caring.
Kneeling, I slowly clean the stone and refresh the flowers. Upon rising my knees hold the impression of the grass right down to the bone.
shadows of birds
cross the road