The grey clouds sent the summer heat away.
Despite the relief, the damp air hung dense.
Small bees buzzed, circling new bodies like prey.
Wildflowers grew along a barbed wire fence.
Black suits and dresses dragged in mud and hay.
A color guard stood in majestic column.
Trumpets in hand, to announce a passing.
The family bowed, silent and solemn.
Both love and life we feign everlasting.
The elegant canopy seemed enchanting.
It shielded what was loved. But now fallen.
Is this how life is: Final act in a field?
Or is life the gathering of those near?
About the Creator
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More stories from Eric Abney and writers in Poets and other communities.
Can You Drive a Ford Fiesta Through a Desert?
I’m flying down the B1 highway from Windhoek to Keetmanshoop with a map and a boot full of camping gear. I’m excited for the first stop of my Namibian road trip: the Quiver Tree Forest. I spot the sign and turn onto the C17, off the tarmac and onto the gravel. I’ll be there soon; it’s only ten miles or so. I am unprepared for what comes next. The car slides and slips across the road. I am not fully in control anymore. I slow to a crawl. The car judders and shudders, the noise deafening, the vibrations rattling the teeth in my skull. It takes me around an hour to drive the ten miles. I arrive at the campsite relieved to be in one piece, even if it feels like all my bones have been shaken slightly out of place. I will later learn that this is what happens when the gravel road becomes “corrugated”, and that the roads authority goes round once a week to “grade” them. Seems I arrived about 6 days after the grader had last been round.
By Jenifer Nim7 days ago in Wander
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