The day is hot. Wispy white clouds make themselves scarce among the crisp, blue sky. The sun beats down. The wind kisses and cools us. We have returned to a happy place.
We step out of the forested hills onto the finger of a butte that projects itself above the broad valley. Carefully, we descend toward the edge, to a place that will be private. Ours. Below us, remnants and recreations tell the history of warring peoples. Around us, an ancient landscape reveals an epic story of a far grander scale. Both are crumbling, eroding, returning to what they once were and anticipating what they will one day become.
Like us.
I carry your vessel with care. It is you but it is not you. We arrive at the spot. The rocks drop off sharply to our left, to our right, and in front of us. There is a tree. Its roots cling tightly with hope and desperation.
I slip the backpack off my shoulders. I unzip it, reach inside, and remove the maroon velvet drawstring bag. I withdraw the jar and, with a deep breath, unscrew the lid. I close my eyes, pause, and open them.
You will nourish the tree. You will provide it with nutrients and soil. You will become part of the tree, of its bark and its leaves, and of the fungi and critters that live around and upon it. I scatter you among the roots. Earth to earth.
I stand up and feel a gust blow on my face. You will ride the wind. You will travel with it to locations near and far. You will become uncountably many new things. I launch you into the air. You swirl and swim and spread across the sky until I cannot see you anymore. Dust to dust.
I sit. We talk. I tell you how happy I am that I found this place. I imagine coming here with our grandchildren, and them with theirs. One day, I tell you, I will come here and I will not leave. I will be part of this place, too.
When it is time, I stand up. I return the jar to the velvet bag, the bag to the backpack, and the backpack to my shoulders. The sun has moved higher, its heat stinging my skin. The clouds dance and decorate the blue sky. The wind hums among the rocks and through the trees.
I leave. I listen to music as I walk on the dusty trail. They are our songs, filled with memories. I smile a teary smile. There will be new memories. I will be back to tell you about them, and to make them with you and with those who join us.
As I walk down the final hill and leave the forest, I look up. I see the finger of rock extending from the butte where you now rest; the lone tree that already you are becoming; the blue sky where you dance. You are with me, you are a part of me, always and forever, and you are also here. I am happy to have fulfilled my promise to you when we talked about the end that we thought was so far away.
I love you. I will return.
