In the fading light, she took the flowers from their wrapping while the horses in the nearby paddock edged closer. She pushed the rusty gate open. It squeaked a welcome as she entered the cemetery. Her blue eyes scanned the graves until she spotted the one she sought, in the section reserved for paupers. Between the gate and his grave, a track had been worn by the many mourners who had been there before her. Standing high over his grave was a Macrocarpa planted just for him; something from home; a piece of his childhood.
The pine needles crackled beneath her heels as she made her way across the cemetery. She was aware of the horses watching her, the only other living souls around. She knelt beside the grave and placed the bluebells in a cross. Then she stood and brushed her tears aside. She whispered to the wind, “Was it worth it Joe? Was it really worth it in the end?”
She turned on her heel while her eyes filled with tears; silently she made her way back along the muddy track.

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