The moon is hidden, blue cotton candied clouds covered in a bed of mold blocking it from my sight. The stars are in the grass, blinking as they weave between the shards of dew-dipped grass.
My pants are soaking through from the grass, becoming as soggy as moss on rotting tree logs. My scent is changing, becoming one with Earth. There’s no musky stench of human sweat, just rain and the crisp scent of aging pine.
My back is braced against the strong trunk of a pine tree. The bark digs into my spine, digging into my skin as it attempts to attach to my hunched vertebrae. Needles fall into my hair, down my shirt, and onto my pants. They’re everywhere, inescapable.
Animals walk past me and play with the laces of my shoes. A baby fox manages to pull my left shoe off. It smiles at me past the leather, playful and swift. I don’t mind. Things like shoes don’t matter anymore.
I tip my head back and l listen to the pine. It whispers, it’s needles tapping messages as they fall on my head.
My time is coming. I look down at my body. My shoeless foot is warping, my toes stretching out, embedding into the earth as they take root.
I smile and close my eyes. It’s only a matter of time until everything returns to the earth.