I’m almost gone now. Height and stately beauty left decades ago; I can’t remember how many now, but it’s not important. I’m not sure why it ever was. The birds of prey have long since left their perches within my boughs. The frogs and bats and squirrels have left for a better home, too, and rightly so. Even most of the insects have finished with me. For a long time I stood as a grim reminder to others of what’s to come, but that’s gone now, too.
|Almost not here.|
I watch the world as it watches me dissolve. Usually it is too busy, though, so I just enjoy the process of un-becoming. I don’t miss the leaves that were my hair because this beautiful moss grows upon me now. My insides have softened and poured out, and the mushrooms have borrowed those parts. In return, they dance for me in the moonlight, their little umbrellas twirling around and around me. Those roots I sent so deeply within the Earth a long time ago have gone back from whence they came. I can’t remember why I thought they were so important back then, but I wish them well in their journey.
I have almost completed myself. I am at the best part. A few more rains and snows and seasons, and I will finish the crumbling. Then the last of me will drift off along the forest floor and into the winds, and I will finally be free.