Late in May, and a large cherry tree was shedding its blossom. Brilliant white in the early evening sunshine, it lay thickly over his bossy mother’s grave. White, Brian thought, the colour of a bride’s gown.
The ‘hole’, as he liked to call it, had space for three coffins stacked vertically. The remains of his unassertive father, Brian senior, occupied the lowest level; pliable husband number two, the ‘mezzanine’; and his mother was, it always amused him to think, “On top”.
“Rest in peace …. all three of you,” he chuckled as he turned away.
Author is a retired old chap, living in St Andrews Scotland, exploring images related to the next stage after retirement.