The sun cracks the horizon, causing the old man to frown around his pipe. He hitches up the collar of his coat, and keeps walking along the hedges. Over the gray smoke curling over the edge of the pipe, he looks out over the meadow, an empty expanse of green shimmering with dew.
The air is heavy with promise and anticipation. His leg cramps up, and he stops to rub his calf. Looking around to be sure that no one is around, he pushes open a gap in the hedge and slips into the meadow. Moving faster now, he crosses the short grass, the brown leather of his boots glistening.
In the center of the meadow sits a small pile white stones, jumbled like a pile of bones.
