quiet

Tonight we held a funeral for an owl.

It had been left at my friend's house, and he came across it when he got home.

I brought over a shovel and a beer at roughly 7:15 p.m..

He was dressed in a pinstripe suit, and it conveyed his concern.

We walked out to what is affectionately known as the "The Kudzu" and I carried the box containing the owl. We picked a spot under the twenty foot tree that bends to one side and supports a rope swing. The hole was dug, and he gave a few words for the departed. We threw in some things for Mr. Hoots, and hummed Amazing Grace. Three of our friends gave a roman candle salute while the first batch of dirt was laid upon Mr. Hoots.

It seemed very Wes Anderson.

Death on your doorstop. And I didn't even wear black.