Here’s my entry for this week.
After Miss Esther died, Vernal was to himself. He seemed surrounded by a protective aura. Most of us knew they’d been lovers, but most of us knew better than to say anything about that. We mostly just waited and let Vernal grieve his own way.
“What should I say at the memorial?” Vernal asked me.
“What do you want to say?” I replied. Vernal huffed.
The memorial took place at the town’s woodsy hearth where Miss Esther had held her seasonal celebrations of one sort or other.
“Prescott County was damned lucky to have a witch, like Miss Esther, watching out for us all this time,” Vernal said in conclusion to his eulogy.
photo prompt – © – Rachel Bjerke