"The silver stone was cold to the touch. The unalterable letters inscribed in the marble, a silverly mix of colors, stated his name, the date of his birth and the date of his death. Almost fifty years he had lived. Here he remained, under a tree that was close to death when he was buried in February. Now, the tree bloomed, a symbol of the force that he was in life.
In sharp contrast to the stark coolness of the headstone, I could feel his anger. Why have you been gone so long? What has taken you away form your amily? What have I done wrong? even now, dead, his spirit intruded on my thoughts and my life. Everything I sought to tell him; my triumphs, my jokes and my failures, gave away to a swelling of grief."
I'd love any feedback that you may have.