Wednesday, April 25, 2012

The backhoe groaned and clanked and scraped as its bucket plunged into the earth, clearing out a neat rectangular space for the funeral that was to happen later that afternoon.  The gravedigger that was operating it was soaked through.  His yellow slicker and wellies had stopped being helpful about an hour ago as the rain had finally crept down his collar and through his jeans and into the tops of his boots.  He made a squishing noise every time he moved his arms or pushed a pedal.  He was a walking swimming pool.  Mary was making applesauce in the church kitchen.  It would be warm and fragrant as he sat down to sample it.  Just one more grave to dig first.

No comments:

Post a Comment