Gage Glass

The Almanac

Jeremy slouched beneath the oak tree and looked out over the horizon. It was more for dramatic effect than any inquisition against the natural world. He let out a deep, controlled sigh as the lukewarm dregs of his beer sloshed about lazily in the glass bottle dangling from his fingers. Only several feet behind him, the earth upon his father’s grave still swelled freshly above the surrounding grass. It was a pleasant service—simple and endearing, family, and neighbors who had ascended to the rank of family in attendance. What one might call “quaint” if they weren’t afraid of being called “patronizing.” The shield of grey clouds overhead protected them from the harsh August sun and even invited the mourners to linger after they’d laid the casket in the earth.