The prettiest one there

 I went to the cemetery today, to talk to my son. As I pruned his flowers and pulled any small weeds from around his stone, I started to look around. At the top of the cemetery hill were the older stones, all covered in lichen and barely able to be read. Some of the stones were not as old, but still had the look of a stone that had been still for awhile. I soon realized that those that were recently placed, had flowers and decorations, lights and coins placed around them carefully, as tokens of love from those left behind. Austin’s stone was this way. In fact, it was the prettiest one there. His mark on us still fresh, the sadness too. The older stones no longer had someone to care for them, there was no one there to grieve for some time. No flowers, coins or lights. But down the hill, not far away, is the prettiest one there.