Life ground down, reborn

The last breath escapes. Flesh goes up in smoke; bones are ground down. Scattered ash under yew tree is covered with fallen leaves. Bones deeper down, still whole, are entangled with roots. A headstone points to the sky.

This grave acre where spire’s shadow falls is teeming with life. Worms work; birds perch to peck berries; brambles abound. Where a commodore sleeps forever, Red Admiral caterpillars crawl over sun-soaked nettles – nettles later laid low by the scythe. Teasels and thistles stand tall.

A father with baby in sling watches a toddler lay rows of daisies on Granny’s grave.