"Dirt to dirt. Ashes we shall return…"
The preacher's voice rolled out over the cemetery, deep and steady, but it seemed to fade somewhere before reaching Alice. She stood beside her father, hands clasped loosely in front of her, eyes fixed on the wooden casket resting above the open grave.
"…for we are but dust, and to dust we shall return," he continued, the words threading into the damp air.
Her father leaned slightly toward her. "Cold?"
"A little," she murmured.
He adjusted the coat draped over her shoulders, though she hadn't noticed him put it there.
The preacher closed his Bible. "Let us pray."
Heads bowed. Alice's stayed lowered, but her eyes remained open, watching the toes of her shoes sink a little into the soft ground.
When the prayer ended, movement began again the slow, solemn shuffle of mourners stepping forward to offer condolences.
