Life

As we drove home from the B&B with my nose buried in the giant bouquet of roses from Mister, we passed a large cemetery on the edge of town. Out amongst the markers and tombstones was an elderly fellow with a small bouquet of his own. He was holding the flowers close to his chest and had his head down. With the backdrop of gray clouds and the wind blowing the willow and oak trees around the cemetery, it was a really poignant moment. It was someone he loved. A wife, maybe? I don't know, but I inhaled the scent of my own roses and held on a little tighter.