Burial

On hands and knees, she was practically praying

to the tree and its roots. The dark and moist hole

of dirt held one precious thing. The cream colored

box sat there patiently, waiting for its eternity in

the ground. She started tossing handfuls of dirt

over it, sullying its flawless facade. The color of

cream lessened, disappeared completely. Once

the soil had refilled the ground she stood and

stamped the dirt down with her feet. Black soil

clung deep to her fingers and below her nails.

As she walked away, the wind whistled through

the leaves, a scattered few fell to the ground.