The Bumblebee

         A bumblebee flew down and lighted on a petal.  It flicked its feelers and looked around.  Then it flew away.  I thought maybe it was going back to tell the other bees there were some real fresh flowers to feed on today.  A strange thing, you might think, to be a memory of my husband's funeral. 

         But sat such a time the mind hides itself among many other things, small, trivial things.  My mind was not ready yet to frame the knowledge that the visible human part of the man with whom I had shared my life was about to be committed to the earth.  So I watched the bee.

         I remember the sound of the volley fired in salute as it echoed off the surrounding hills and died away in silence.  I remember the sad notes of taps played on a bugle.  And the melody of Amazing Grace.  Joe would have loved to have Amazing Grace played on the pipes.  As a true Scot, he loved the pipes.  But no piper was available. 

         I watched them fold the flag into a star covered triangle. This was a ceremony these soldiers had done before and would do again, in response to clipped commands.

         Someone handed me the folded flag.  It was time to go.  They led me away because I did not know where I was going or why.  Joe's funeral was over. 

         A life of eighty five years had ended only to begin again in a new place.  I was beginning the process by which I would become a widow.  But for now I thought of the bumble bee and how much it and its friends were going to enjoy the flowers we left on the ground.