Owl and Raccoon stood on a hill, half-hidden behind the willow said to be haunted. They looked down, and watched as the black cloaked figures moved slowly from the church across the fields, careful to keep between the rough hewn tombstones. One removed his hood, a mute shock of white hair against the leaning shadows. This one performed rites, his arms thrown up, fingers stretched wide. The thick branches above them swayed. Shook. Groaned. Brown leaves fell.
Then all was quiet.
The figures bowed. Six lowered the long box into the ground, white hair tossed a handful of damp earth.
(Skin of my teeth, but 31/31 in May)