Where The Bones Come Together


I put on my boots, my summer hat, and sprayed myself with tick repellent.  The sun was hot and the temperature in the low sixties.  I thought about walking on my neighbor’s path, but I’d have to drive there even though it’s just around the corner and didn’t feel like getting in the car.

I walked paying little attention to the dogs, feeling my feet on the ground and my head becoming lighter.  I walked without thinking and when I came to one of the biggest trees that I know,  the one with three thick branches that curve out like a cupped hand, I sat down beneath it, my back leaning against its wide trunk.

I closed my eyes and let go.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but not more than ten minutes.  I opened my eyes when Fate pressed her body against my arm.  Then I kissed her head and got up.

I passed a decaying stump alive with vibrant green moss, a hollowed-out home for some small animal.  Insects that were otherwise invisible to me bounced light off their wings.  Like a magic trick, they appeared to me for only a moment then were gone just as quickly.

Then I saw the bones.

Just a small section of a deer’s spine, they glowed milky in the sunlight.   I’ve seen lots of deer bones on my walks.  But what was different about these was how clean they were and how there were places where they still came together.

There was something about the way they fit together like pieces in a puzzle, but still had space between them.

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