By Chris Collier
Even though it was February, he still referred to it as spring cleaning. The same time every year, without fail.
He worked quickly, scrubbing at the surface with a soft brush, rinsing off the dirt and then repeating the process. Finally, he used a dry cloth to wipe away the remaining moisture and to give everything a slight sheen.
He raised himself from his numbed knees and brushed his trousers a few times. Kissing two fingers on his right hand, he laid them briefly on top of the gravestone. The frozen ground crunched underfoot as he walked away for another year.
Thought-provoking and moving.
Thanks for that.
Really moving – lovely piece of writing.
Many thanks Yvonne.
Well done . . . your writing made me stop, and think, and feel.
Thanks Tom.
A touching moment!
Thank you.
We spring clean the grave of a relative so I sympathised with this excellent story.
Thanks Derek.
I agree with all the previous comments. Regards from Spain from a fellow Spanish writer!
Thanks Arturo.