I turned my back on the porch and walked down the driveway toward the street.

Heavy rain turned the dirt paths of Whispering Pines Cemetery into slick gray mud.

I walked down the long rows of headstones, wiping cold water from my eyes.

The afternoon light was fading fast under the storm clouds.

I checked the metal map board near the maintenance shed, but the glass was fogged over.

I walked the newest section of the grounds, reading the names on the polished granite markers.

My cheap boots sank deep into the wet grass with every step.