Tears and smiles in the graveyard.

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It’s too hot, to which statement the school boy retort must surely be “stick it in a bucket of ice”. But seriously, my friends, the air temperature in Ireland really is far too high as I wait here under the shade of a spreading Yew tree in the graveyard. A grieving family should come slowly along the road some time soon and I’ll emerge from the shadows to receive them. The rich, red earth has been piled up beside the excavated grave since yesterday afternoon, and Billy the gravedigger has hidden himself, shirtless and sweaty as always, on the other side of the Church to have a smoke before being called on to tidy things up when the family move on to the Church hall for tea. Birds feast at the up-turned earth and the retired horse in the adjacent field flatulates with vigour. That windy horse has brought many a smile to the eyes of mourners over the years.