Birds circled overhead.

Are those crows?

I should probably get out of here. Scrambling to stuff all of my belongings into my bag, I dropped my sketchbook. It landed open, on a page where I drew a picture of my favorite flowers, Irises. Mistakenly as a child I thought they were just eyeballs on a stem, like a silly Halloween decoration. Ever since they have been my favorite. Inky but often purple, to me they were like lavender's cooler older cousin.

Picking it up and gently tucking it away in my backpack, I took one last glance at the stone that neighbored the tree I was just sitting beneath.

Elaine Andrews

Mother, Daughter & Friend.

1903-1965

I didn't know the woman, but the shade of sitting under that tree has become one of my favorite past times. I hope she doesn't mind me sitting next to her so often.

Slinging my bag over my other shoulder, I could still sense the birds above me as I continued on my way. I passed through the wrought iron fence that surrounds the headstones of the graveyard just as the tree snapped in two.