Waiting for Godot

I’m sitting in my office watching the rain drizzle onto the blacktop of the newly covered driveway. The cemetary across the street looks serene; the plastic flowers stuck into the permanent vases have survived the storm that raged earlier, unlike the real flowers, which have disappeared and become part of the natural order again.

Why would anyone put garish orange flowers on a tomb? It’s the only thing I can see.

Meanwhile, the giant oak outside my window had sprouted some new leaves.