High above the town, I greedily breathe the air.
Already, there is little trace of the path I’d forged. The disturbed foliage bouncing back into place, like a coiled spring.
I sit, slowly. The exertion of the ascent has made me lightheaded. I close my eyes and feel the cool stone beneath my legs and buttocks. Solid. Comforting. Constant.
It makes me remember him. Solid. Comforting. Constant. My mountain.
But not any longer.
I uncap the ornate vessel that holds him now. I can feel his urgency to be free. The forest beckons. Its wintergreen fingers tickling the ether as I empty him into their grasp.
I smile as his ashes fly away. Who says you can’t move mountains?
By Sarah ©2022
Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, Wordle #281