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The cemetery was still but not silent as Ben Braxton leaned against the rough trunk of an ancient oak.  It stood apart from the mourners, yet close enough that he could clearly see and hear them. His gaze locked on the dark-haired woman next to the grave site. It's been a long time, Rachelle. Too long since I've been back. He looked down and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

     The giant oak spread its roots in a huge circle beneath his feet and its curvy gnarled limbs stretched over the meadow as though laying claim to everything within the reach of its broad shadow.  In the late afternoon on this October day, that shadow seemed to embrace all those who wept. As the priest bowed his head and said his last words of prayer over the coffin, Ben sighed and silently joined them in weeping.  Perhaps coming back to Willerton was a mistake.

     As if in answer to his doubt, thunder roared. Ben looked up to see perilous black storm clouds drifting overhead. The wind wound its way through the oak's branches, whispering like the rustling of silk, and filling Ben's mind with fear and sadness. He turned the collar of his coat up around his neck and listened. If he hadn't known better, he'd swear the gruff voice in his mind was that of his longtime friend, Jake Kehrer. But that was impossible, now that Jake was dead.
     


September 22, 2022

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