The northern wind of the city of Bion moved, whistling through the trees and sliding leaves one after another, trembling and drifting lazily through the soft morning sun's rays.
The wind made shadows dance across the ground, shrinking and stretching long as they floated before landing gently on the dew grass.
Squirrels jumped, passing on the trunks and entering holes visible in the trees.
As crows flying above shifted their beaks and dived, their black feathers rustling as the wind threaded through old stone markers and iron-wrought crosses, stirring petals left on the concrete graves.
In the rows of the gravestones, people dressed in black outfits of all styles, holding hands as they walked, brushing their handkerchiefs on their cheeks.
Tyres rolled under black cars, halting them at the gate of the Bon Central Cemetery.
