If I Had an Instagram, Day Two

If I had an Instagram, I would Instagram 

(Hold on ... is there any other sentence that can contain one word as both a noun and a verb? I'm curious about this and I invite your submissions.)

If I had an Instagram, I would Instagram my friend, Little's, face. 

Her real name is Lauren, but I call her Little, because we have another Lauren who is taller than her. She is Big and this one is Little.

I spent the whole morning with her. She was wearing a baseball cap. But I could still see all of her beauty and it was captivating. At times it was hard to follow the line of her story because she is so beautiful, so radiant, even when she is sad.

In her face I saw Little's joy and her pain, her sorrow, surprise and her delight. Her face has a million different views.

We talked about funny things, like how some women live in fancy cities and wear perfume and put make-up on their already-beautiful faces. It made us sad, but we laughed, too.

If I had an Instagram, I would Instagram Lauren's face.

I'm certain it would get a thousand likes, or hearts, or whatever they give out as candy on Instagram.

This morning across the street they had the funeral for the woman whose grave was dug on Thursday. There were cars parked along the road.

When I looked out of my kitchen window, I saw the man who runs the backhoe, standing beside a grave, touching it with his hand. He was standing a distance away from the dug gravesite where people had gathered for the service, presumably waiting for everyone to leave so he could get on his backhoe and fill the grave back up with dirt. He was just standing there waiting. From the kitchen window it looked interesting: the funeral gathering, the old chapel not far from the man, and the man waiting to finish his work.

If I had an Instagram, I would Instagram the man in the black sweatshirt, with his hand resting on the top of an old gravestone, waiting while a burial took place off in the distance.