The view of the cemetery crossed me at the corner of my eye. I was on a bus, going at 50kph on the small winding roads of Surrey. The bus stopped at the junction, waiting for the traffic line to turn green. I turn around and take a second look at the cemetery and took note of how old some of the gravestones were - chipped and moss-devoured, the headstones' details were lost to the running of time and age.
The light turns green.
Just before we sped off down the countryside, I noticed a small old woman kneeling by a headstone with flowers in her hands. Could she be the only visitor this cemetery had left?
The bus began to move and we turned around a corner.
I lost sight of the old woman and the cemetery but the thought of a lone visitor lingered. I wondered how it must feel to be her, the only one left who seemed to have any longingness to visit the dead loved one. Where were the other funeral-goers who cried over the coffin of the dead? Were they all merely playing the role of 'Mourner'?
I got off the bus at the Bird in Hand. In the pub, there was a loud chanting of the birthday song and I knew that all those singing were just playing the role of "Friend".
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