It was grey and cold. The world seemed sad. The afternoon brought us to a funeral. Someone died too young. Her coffin was a basket. Having just started to learn the craft of basket weaving, we imagined the many hours of loving dedication that went into making it. Hands weaving, eyes watching, the soul knowing the destination of what the hands made. Geese gathered over her house as we arrived to pay our respect. As if they could stretch their wings and, together, lift her out of her grey pain into a new light.

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