The Mourning Willows
After the funeral, he walked alone through the wrought iron cemetery gates and down the gravel drive towards the river. She said “Yes” on the banks of that river, and every year they picnicked at that same spot near the bend where the willows drooped mournfully into the water. He wandered down the overgrown path to the banks of the river and found her, knelt quietly crying, wearing the black dress she wore to their son’s funeral many years ago. As the sun set behind the mourning willows, she rose, passing him silently, and walked alone to the empty house.