Lake Lewisia #883

[scrubjayspeaks]

Though the nearest bus stop was only an easy walk from his house, the curve of the country lane around rolling meadows meant that he and the rest of the world lost sight of each other for long, lovely stretches. It was in this stretch that he saw the funeral procession: a sinuous stretch of long weasel bodies, bearing upon their backs one of their dead kin decked in flowers and feathers. When it arrived, the bus and driver would see nothing of him, nor the procession, while up the lane, he turned and fell in step with them to show proper respect.

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LL#883