The cemetery was gray, or maybe that’s just the way I remember it. It’d had the feelings of ghosts and lonely corpses even though the sky was clear and the grass was green. I remember seeing a mound of sand, all brown and soil-black, where the gravediggers had cleared a fresh space for him. I imagined that it smelled like vegetables in the hopes that maybe he’d feel somewhat at home there, in the ground. My grandfather had been an excellent cook.