The disheveled hair beneath the gravedigger’s cap, catching her breath as she slumps down, reveals time like weathered stone carvings. What lies dormant beneath her dirt-stained, grimy pants sparks curiosity, even igniting a desire to unearth the truth. Should I quietly endure and accept what’s visible? Or does it burn hotter than it seems, turning to ash in a blaze? Like a story that surely exists, it will unravel with the passage of time.