Standing a few feet from the edge of the precipice overlooking the water, Zora let the ocean breeze blow all around her. She let it catch her hair and whip it wildly around her as she stared calmly out over the ocean, dry-eyed for once, and for the moment, as an odd sense of tranquility and peace overcame her.
She was dressed in white and barefoot, and with a bouquet of white flowers in her arms. Each flower - according to druid traditions and rituals - held a special meaning. Gardenias, gladioluses, asters, chrysanthemums, lilies, freesias, and hydrangeas, all of them represented a sentiment or wish for the departed.
Moving to the ledge, Zora looked down at the ocean below, felt the ocean spray on her face, and was immediately reminded of the last time she had been here. Broen had saved her that day from possibly doing something stupid, and for that reason - a moment where life was chosen over death - it now seemed fitting to pay her respects and say goodbye here.
Picking out a white aster first, Zora started slowly tossing the flowers out into the choppy waves as she recited a poem she remembered from school called, Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep. It was by an American author called Mary Frye, and she found it expressed perfectly how she thought he might see things.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!
And with the last word, Zora tossed in the last flower, watching quietly now as the flowers and petals swirled and were pulled under in the water and waves far below her. Wishing also as she watched the petals drowning and dancing on the waves that somehow things could have been different and that she had had a little more time with him.
Feeling tears starting to swell once again, Zora now found herself just wishing like she had wished a thousand times since that horrible moment that Broen had not chosen death over life.
She was dressed in white and barefoot, and with a bouquet of white flowers in her arms. Each flower - according to druid traditions and rituals - held a special meaning. Gardenias, gladioluses, asters, chrysanthemums, lilies, freesias, and hydrangeas, all of them represented a sentiment or wish for the departed.
Moving to the ledge, Zora looked down at the ocean below, felt the ocean spray on her face, and was immediately reminded of the last time she had been here. Broen had saved her that day from possibly doing something stupid, and for that reason - a moment where life was chosen over death - it now seemed fitting to pay her respects and say goodbye here.
Picking out a white aster first, Zora started slowly tossing the flowers out into the choppy waves as she recited a poem she remembered from school called, Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep. It was by an American author called Mary Frye, and she found it expressed perfectly how she thought he might see things.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!
And with the last word, Zora tossed in the last flower, watching quietly now as the flowers and petals swirled and were pulled under in the water and waves far below her. Wishing also as she watched the petals drowning and dancing on the waves that somehow things could have been different and that she had had a little more time with him.
Feeling tears starting to swell once again, Zora now found herself just wishing like she had wished a thousand times since that horrible moment that Broen had not chosen death over life.
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