Your Sacred Resting Place

The mountain air sends my breath aloft as my footsteps crunch icily over the morning’s path. I’d come for pine-scented solitude, but instead, I found you.

Perhaps you’d hiked the selfsame path, enchanted by this deep forest. Now, you’ve rested here quietly for years. All that remains are your bones, mossy with abandonment and neglect.

As the forest reclaims you with this youthful pine growing through your ribcage, I have to wonder: Who were you before you fell, forgotten? Where have you gone?

I crouch beside you, whispering your last rites, and lay a gathered pine cone at your feet.

Moira writes weird stories and pretends to be a rat on the internet. @moirariom.bsky.social www.ohmoira.com