He reached down to the patch of grass beside his foot and picked out the good-sized rock. Why he needed to do so was not apparent to himself, nor, for that matter, to his assailant, a fact that nearly made her flee the scene in its unexpected nature. Instead, she held fast to the post by which she'd been standing since noon that day.
The rock was grey, and smooth. It was somewhat oval, certainly oblong. There were thousands of tiny pits about its surface. Occasionally a brown speck would sit beside a darker swatch. All in all quite unremarkable in most respects. Except that it had caused what had become very real discomfort for some two inches above his right temple. The throbbing was there, and getting faster.
He finally looked up, and from out of his hat brim he saw a female standing across the walk, her back to the sun and her hand on a post. She was squinting at him and he was a while in realizing that she was mimicking the odd gaze that he was returning her for the sake of her rock. He blinked his eyebrows up high, and watched as she gathered her satchel and began to walk towards the crowd.
What more can be said,
after all the time has flown,
When we miss the Dead,
and their dreams are not our own?
Nothing but sighs,
Nothing.
*
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