A Natural Death

I dreamed last night, a horrible dream. It was so vivid, so real, that I could smell the fragrant flowers that danced on the breeze and touch the coolness of the clay hidden under the shade of the dying trees.

I dreamed that I was a younger self, with brown hair tied in braids, tucked behind my adorned ears. My glittering eyes, so blue, so young, squinted at the brightness of the sun, my cheeks soaking in the warming spring rays that I waited so long to feel. My gangly self wore a yellow dress that clad my middle and reached to my knees, comfortable yet practical. In my hands I held a black book, it's contents unknown to me, yet familiar. 

Before me lay a path, well worn and man made, created for the purpose of arriving at a destination, or follow to find a destination. Ahead, in the shadows of a fading magnolia tree, finished with the blossoming for the season, stretched a decorative footbridge that was in need of repair, and my clad feet were drawn towards it. 

 White petals fell towards me, and fluttered gaily like the evening white moths that flitted around the porch light in late summer. Upon the path, the fallen wings created a soft contrast of nature against man made, petals against asphalt.

The creaky yellow bridge spanned between two long hills that hid the water pipes that once was purposeful, before the asylum for the elderly was closed forever for renovations. In times of rain, and melting snow, the hills harbored a small pool, complete with seasonal weeds and dangerous animals.

The silence of the asylum was deafened by the mating calls of the robins and mourning doves that hid within the darkened branches that lined the winding, purposeful path.  The darkened windows held the illusions of people looking out towards the welcoming land, but when observed, the images faded into the broken glass and undefined darkness. 

Upon the bridge that became my final destination, I paused and observed the world around, teeming with life, death and careful desicions. I placed my weight against the smoothed rails of the bridge to contemplate the mysteries that I held in my hand. The weakened wood collapsed and I fell towards the welcoming Earth, expecting to land among the harmless, beautiful weeds.

Though, as I laid there, expecting the dream to end during the fall, which it never would, I found what danger awaited me.  For, within those beautiful, seasonal weeds, was my undoing. As nature creates life, nature also takes away. Nature had killed me with the shell of an aging turtle against my skull. I laid there awaiting a passing stranger to find me lying among the white petals and soft clay, staring eternally with one eye towards the darkening sky, the victim of a perfect murder.