As Abdessamad positioned him under the dappled shade and began to recite Surah Ya sin, I laid my back on the cool wall next to the grave. Specks of light danced around us as winds blew across and tilted the leaves, and among the gaps formed by their fluttering, I could see clear spring sky dotted with clouds.

And from the vines soaring above the canopy, yet to be furled tendrils waved; as if trying to reach and grasp the heaven, that promise of eternity reserved for the faithful, threatened neither by illness nor by senescence, shielded from worldly pains.

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Another simple drawing.