I thought about the wind tonight, how it carries things—words, old memories, the whispers of things that shouldn’t exist. When I was sitting under the willow tree, the air felt different, like it was holding its breath. Then, suddenly, I knew: the dead don’t stay gone. They watch. They wait. They’re always there, just beyond the edge of your hearing. It wasn’t a vision or a dream. It was a feeling, like the earth itself was breathing.
I don’t know what tomorrow will be, but for now, I rest. The river calls, and I’ll go back. I have to. The world is quiet, but it’s not empty. I’m tired, but I’m not afraid anymore.