I fear not the process, the natural end of this time here as I prepare for the next. I only fear the method and I vow to meet it’s messenger on my field with sword in hand beneath the white petals.
Have we met before? Perhaps on a distant planet, on the other side of the known universe. White and gold petals scattered through the void we cannot see, while consuming everything we do see. I stand within light on a floating island. The willow tree comforts me on the long journey from planet to planet,…