Inspired by “I’m Sorry, I’m Lost” by Moderator, and a hike.
The air is suffused with soft forest smells; fresh pine rises from millions of needles but even this multitude fails to overwhelm. Underneath, so pervasive as to escape notice is dirt, a combination of blooming life and decaying death that shows both are actually one and the same. Wooden bridges are new enough to offer up their own fragrant offerings into the air; the odor incongruously fresh for the result of such precise butchery. The surrounding stone smells of age; it has given up so much of itself into the air that you can sense its fatigue. So old, but even so, inconstant in the face of time. The forest, the dirt the bridges and stones... None of these things needed me. They were and are, regardless of whether I am. But now I have spoken them into existence. Now they and I are one and the same; entangled in history and language. "What therefore God hath joined together let not man put asunder."