The flowers’ scent faded. Their petals dried, fell off the stalk. The grass that was wrapped around it fell off and the wind blew it to her. She had to go on. She had to move towards her mother. She must be cold, she thought but that did not make her go back. The flowers had been there for months now. There had to be new ones.
But someone should say sorry to the flowers. Cut and taken from their families. Their greenness leaving them. Anyway, sorry. Flowers. In that moment, the image of the lowering coffin shadowed. Flowers adorning the coffin. And the soil that suffocated it.
The wind blew off the soil that hindered the carving on the stone. She stared at it awhile, as if searching for answers. As if seeing someone, she felt as if she was not alone. The wind embraced her. She read the words in a whisper. As if she needed to hear them and believe them.
The stone did not have much to it. Just carved for the ordinary and stood there. And answers lingered over it. She knew she had to find why her mother. Even though the words on her new home, where not true.