i recently died and am becoming a new person. Here is my grave site. You definitely want to rot to this view.

This place is my only home on earth and where i’m going to join the bushman after i die. i don’t dare make a grave site as beautiful and moving as her’s. i just want my ashes spread across the surface, to become the sand. i can’t wait for the day…

i found out at that i’m not an oak, i am grass. i grew up in the highveld and my floods and droughts follow those rhythms of the climate i grew in. i burn to nothing every year and regrow in a new place. i’m icy cold wintery air on frosty crisp grass. i’m wind in August. i’m thunderstorms towering in the sky. i’m lightning striking the dry ground burning like dragons. i’m bright blue skies, the high pressure cell dragging your eyes up and up and up. i’m tiny soft green shoots in blackened crunchy crushed ashy

i don’t have solid roots like an oak. i have roots like grass. Apparently weak but growing back after every burning.

 

Just like the grass at the bushman grave. The storm uncovered the grave to reveal grass growing strong within a couple of days. One day nothing, the next day powerful grasses that look much older than the few days old they are. Old roots hidden beneath the sand. i will bend like the grass and challenge every windmill.

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