these are the beginnings to the novels i'll never write.



these are the beginnings to the novels i'll never write.
three hundred sixty five stories that begin and never end.

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Showing posts with label coffin ashes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coffin ashes. Show all posts

Monday, December 7, 2009

Muse 4: Coffin Ash

"Did you know," he said as they drove past the miles and miles of land scattered with tall trees - although there were more acres of emptiness than tree, "that once upon a time they did not bury people in coffins and gravestones? Yeah, even us, the ones who probably honor this grave tradition more than anyone else. But even in King Arthur's time they did not bury people in their own graves - no, they buried them under trees, and the trees became a symbol of memory, of life. Then I guess somewhere along the way, generations decided that they were too self-important to be put back into the ground, too important to decompose like all things should, and started to clear up the trees for burial ground, started to fill dead bodies with chemicals and unnatural things so they would be physically immortal in death. Then thousands of year later, we sit and wonder why the earth is dying, but we never give thought that maybe she is a giver, not a provider. So where is the provider now, when she has no more to give?"