Seeds Planted In the Receiving Unforgiving Ground

It's six days since the Hole was dug... First frost clings now to newly turned earth, to shunted sod, to stones, to pebbles. A grave grows colder today than yet it's been... Hearts grow busy, too. Supplanting last images with happier ones. The heart and mind curate a story to tell and re-tell; to tell ourselves. To hold back the ghosts. ~~~ It’s a year and some four months since its been six days, today. The field, once buttercupped, had been for Iris to wander. His field, unbuttered. She ignored what he’d eat. A square of yellow beside a square of green. (If only you’d seen!) Her white, stark, above the fresh-cut ginger yellow field. Then, in a month of summer, her field... greened. She a cloud above a lawn. He a sienna burning in the Summer sun. His field daisied and hers green. The yellow square now green. The green square now white. She in her place. He in his. Trading primaries. Today, the buttercups began to return to his green-then-white field. The place where his grave is. I notice, through tears, that none have grown over his grave. Ghosts, perhaps, are flowers. The beauty returning, from seeds buried.