I'M WALKING TO THE POND

next to the cemetery. Some days I go through the gates to visit the graveyard, but not today. As I stroll along the water, I almost bump into a heron. Then, I hear two parakeets. I look around and see that one of them is sticking her head into a small hole in the tree. I take a photograph, but realize that I'm too far away. When I try to get closer, she flies away. I turn around to follow her route and notice a horse-drawn coach at the crossroads. It's completely white, and seems to be waiting for the light to turn green. For a moment I wonder whether I'm dreaming, but I quickly compose myself. I rush towards it, camera ready. The 60mm macro lens that is attached to it will have to make do.
Luckily, the coach moves very slowly. A woman on foot, dressed in black, proceeds it. The procession makes a turn on the busy road - traffic has come to a complete standstill. I take some shots.
Near me, a woman is sitting on one the benches, with her bicycle leaned against her.
'There goes Jopie,' she says.
'Jopie?' I ask.
'My neighbour. She has died, and will be cremated today'.
'Was the coach her own idea?', I ask. 'Did she die suddenly?'
'Oh no,' she says, 'When they returned from their holiday in Greece - they have a house there - in November, she complained about pain in her back. The doctor prescribed physiotherapy. Later it turned out to be a misdiagnosis, her bones full of cancer cells.'
Suddenly, a man dressed in black appears. He stops in front of us.
'I had to go pee in the bushes,' he says.
When he walks away, the woman says: 'That's her husband.'
'Why is he on foot?'
'He was in one of the cars, but he got out to pee. He forgot to go earlier.'
'It's nerves, I imagine.'
The carriage turns right towards the crematorium.
'I think I'll get going,' the woman says. 'The husband will be all alone. They didn't have any children. She was only 61 years old... What a pity to be cremated on such a sunny day.'
'Perhaps it would be worse on a dark day,' I say, as I watch her walk towards the entrance, pushing her bike.

My haiku:

Frost on the ground feel
The cold leaves covering dark
Ages of silence

And the proverb by Dekker:

Age is like love, it cannot be hid.