The Crypt

The day of the funeral the sky is thick with fat woolly clouds, like a herd of pregnant sheep huddled together on the brow of the hill.
A yellow tinge shades the fluffy blanket, foretelling of more snow to come.
The freezing temperature penetrates my winter coat and chills me to the bone.
I walk with Aiko by my side, behind six men who bear the weight of your coffin on their broad shoulders.

The throng of mourners moves like a black ribbon through the winter white landscape.
We accompany you on your last journey, at the end we will lay you to rest alongside our ancestors.
I am glad that you will not be lowered into a hole in the ground, to be suffocated by black soil.

Only a handful of close relatives descend into the candle lit chamber.
We shiver as the icy cold from the flagstones creeps through the soles of our shoes. We bow our solemn brow and pray for your soul and a safe journey to the other side.

I glance sideways and see Aiko look up at the vaulted ceiling. As if her large jewel like eyes,
illuminated by the bright guttering candles, follow you into heaven.

Behind the door of the crypt hangs a key.
Just in case you should wake and rise from your satin covered lead casket.
For the same reason they do not seal your coffin.
The key is there so that you can make your escape.
Because you just never know.