sick day

I'm on the sofa or the bed. Rain and chill wind. The funeral at the Armenian church gathers its mourners, black huddled against wet. One blue umbrella in the crowd.

Obsequies, and then they depart for whatever grave yard holds their dead. Back a few hours later, black coats slick and eyes downcast, and again the blue umbrella.

A meal I suppose or some other affirmation. They depart. The church is silent.