Leave me to the trees

For An Morrigàn. May she be pleased with this offering 𓅨

Leave me to the trees and let their roots consume me. 

My body belongs to them.

Leave me to the crows as my ancestors would have once done. On a hilltop. Skyclad. Until there's nothing but bone. 

Leave me to the waters, where slow decay feeds unfathomable life forms.

Even in death we withhold.

Dead leaves scatter the streets and we clean them up into plastic bags. “That looks better," we say to ourselves. Negating the multitudes of life forms living in those dead fallen leaves. 

Dead bodies of animals lie at roadsides and we call someone to scoop them up and put them in the bin, or incinerate them. Not considering their death feeds life. Feeds foxes. Feeds worms. Feeds soil. 

Death and dying disturb the comfort of some. Yet it's an indelible part of life, the only certainty.  

We spend our lives looking at a fallacy and believe it to be real. 

When what's real is that we belong to earth. Our bodies expire and return to her. 

Don't put me in an expensive box carved from a tree I would rather see standing. 

No.

Leave me to the trees, sky or sea. 

The Queen, from the wild unknown oracle by Kim Krans