This Time.

Trees project high overhead like spires towards the heavens. As I lay here, or perhaps more correctly, as gravity works upon my mass, gently tamping the loose soil, the broken twigs and leafy decay. The musk of earth about me; one life recycled into another. What a mysterious conductor, who directs this chaos into order, yet, at the same time, engenders entropy. From dust to dust they say. More like from flesh to dirt, and then to life again. Enshrouded with a durable shell, weathering the elements, a seed melts into life. Roots penetrate me, seeking nourishment, as cotyledons open towards the sky. A beam of light cracks through the dense canopy above, rending warmth and energy. Hope for a new life, a better life, this time.