A short time later, when the carpenter was taking measurements for the coffin, through the window they saw a light rain of tiny yellow flowers falling. They fell on the town all through the night in a silent storm, and they covered the roofs and blocked the doors and smothered the animals who slept outdoors. So many flowers fell from the sky that in the morning the streets were carpetted with a compact cushion and they had to clear them away with shovels and rakes so that the funeral procession could pass by.
Gabriel García Márquez
One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967)