Memento Mori
Wild solace grows in these hedgerows. I follow the
stream as a whimsical path. The drainage is manmade, a plastic tunnel channeled
from the field. Dug over in the shale are old bones, old teeth, turned from the
earth when the tunnel was dropped in. In the stream too, a bright skeletal
relic: shiny clean in shallow water.
I can't imagine these trees as saplings but they must
have grown, out of the earth where the bones all lie.
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