Solitary Storyteller

Beneath my feet is an infinite dirt path

Laced with decomposing autumn leaves and dewy emerald grasses

The golden sun pours down from above

Cascading upon, both the living and fallen, trees coated in soft earth moss

Nothing but the sound of wind

Wisping by in a cool steam

Nature’s beautiful silence

In front of me stands an ancient oak tree

With roots burrowed

Far down into the mud, past the emerald grasses

Beyond my reach

Bark permanently scarred by the names of generations past

Love, and pain, and compassion, and fear uncovered

Through the words chosen

Engraved alongside sturdy roots

Messy letters etched in deep

Oak

Tattooed with the lopsided hearts of lovers who are long gone

Their initials disrupting the bark’s once continuous flow

Creating the mirage of love - an everlasting memoir to infatuation

Someone’s love story

Artificially concrete