100 words project 48 : Loss of an Anchor

In the breeze of fall, we all sit in the funeral. Leaves serving as cushions to the hardened soil and as unwelcomed decorations on our heads.
There is no words of God spoken here, nor will there be at church this Sunday.

The priest.

He died yesterday.

For once, there is nothing holding us back or together.

Yet, we are all here.

It is freedom that we crave, but what to do with freedom?

No hope of help, no one to blame but ourselves.

For the fear of being wrong, we freeze.

Word : Fall