Mitchel watched the smoke of the gravedigger’s hand-rolled cigarette snake up the man’s rough hand, stained brown by dirt, nicotine, and engine oil. The man wore khaki overalls and a plaid, fleece cap with ear flaps to protect against the February wind traveling down the mountain. He sat respectfully silent while his backhoe rested on the frozen ground, hot metal ticking in the cold, the machine exhaling blue diesel-smelling fumes, like the panting of a winded mechanical animal. Click here to read on...