“Deep enough,” John said.
“Things are never deep enough.”
Sam was never here like everyone else. His eyes focused on the hole in the dark earth. “The glassblower God forms dust into balls of glowing lanterns. Our time is as thin as paper. When all is ash, we become the dust that becomes the glass that lights the skies. Dad will be a lantern for future skies.”
John lifted the lid of the wooden box and pulled out a bag of ash. His father’s ashes weighed seven or eight pounds. He would make a big tree.
John poured the ash into the hole, placed a sapling on top.
Sam steadied the tree while John filled the hole.
“Beautiful,” Sam said.
They stood there, looking skyward at a great lantern swollen red, awaiting rebirth.