I remember the name they gave me.
He talks to stones and collects the bones.
The stones, the shrubs, the trees, the creeks, the birds, the lizards, the bees, the bones.
I miss my spot. I KNOW it misses me.
I belonged to it.
“There is always a witness,” it whispers.
“There is nothing to take, nothing to break, nothing to make, just sit… and be,” they say.