I felt so clever, so stupidly proud of myself, heart thumping with the guilty little thrill of watching her.
Until she caught me.
She'd stepped away from Rhiannon's grave, and walked slowly off into the mist.
And I'd not checked that she was out of view before I'd slunk over to see how things were and stare at the fresh flowers that she had left.
I had tended graves before, after all; this one was neat and well-contained. Plain stone borders containing a patch of green, Rhiannon's family had elected not to seed her resting place with flowering plants that would die over winter.
A simple Celtic cross was chiselled into the headstone, and the dates and words that were never enough to express the loss the living had suffered.
Daughter. Sister. Light of our lives.
So poignant.
I wonder
