Rewilding

I spent a lifetime ripping up weeds, sending the shreds to the bonfire. I found my choicest cuts and threw out the rest. I made my life a lifeless place. Scaled down to perfect size I sat in peace and quiet. Prescient, I marked out my plot and laid my grave modestly, tastefully. I woke half buried, alone, untouched, even evading carrion. No bulbs grew for foxes to hunt all already dug up and what was left of me? I traded all my grisle for smooth, clean bone. But one day, I chose to live. I let my land heal, took what was left of me, let it mulch, and from it grew thickets and flowers and brambles. The plants brought mice and insects, feeding birds and foxes. I clothed my bones in moss and vines and pelts, filled out my hollow shape again. Before long there were guests, strays and monsters mostly but they loved my bones and I kissed their fangs. We haunt, a danse macabre, jaunty in spite of ourselves. I’ll be death, you can be revival, and between us we’ll remember how to live.