There is a subtle stoicism in nature.
Life simply exists out there
without command.
Sometimes I imagine what it would be like
to die out there,
Nothing cares for your existence out there,
not the trees,
or the wind,
or the creeks.
You die, just like any other animal out there,
and life simply goes on.
Nothing out there will mourn you
or even remember you and,
if enough time should pass,
no one who once cared would ever find
what is left of you.
Your disappearance would be the greatest mystery
to everyone
except you
and the wilds.


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