As first they crossed him in that beautiful place of desolation they believed him yet alive. He stirred to their approach, neglected body uncurling beneath a willow weeping, gaze passing to meet their approach, a smile gently crawling its way onto his lips. Greetings and peace they bestowed forth upon him, but no love for this fellow man could they muster in their hearts, an asking too far for a stranger in this profaned holy place, where ghosts too seek absolution. “And upon you, travellers” came simply his reply. They asked him if he knew where he was, where he had chosen to set down whatever burdens he carried, “here” he started “and what burdens would you believe I carry.” Many and more - they thought, why else would any man lay down his head in this place; and since he carried naught else -they saw, what but burdens could he have. “Have you no shelter old man? This is no place to dwell. We are not long to stay, but you are welcome to our company as we away.” “A dwelling? Aye young nephews, many and more. Wherever I went my head would rest and wherever next I go too; and though no man may, the soil remembers.” Patiently they said “we mean a home old man, a family perhaps, companions; somewhere you would have us return you to?” “Ah, trinkets and kinfolk you mean. Aye, even a wretch as I was born to kin and has his baubles; some of both already lost, the rest of both someday will. I held on so tightly once a time, thinking fear would keep them both. But all it did was curb the joy I felt to have them flutter through my life, and the joy those who could feel may have felt. But I am some margin less foolish now, and joy is easier to my heart. Here this willow and stream would be my trinkets and you my kin if you would have me, for as long as you’d wish to stay.” “Not just kin and hearth then nuncle; what of your memories? Some childhood place you would revisit, someone you’d wish to see once more?” “Of memories I have a hundredfold my life’s days, nephews, too many to dare test. Some are true I’m sure, many are false. Some are fragments held together by nothing more than the mind’s grace. Some are half truth, shaded and jaded by the life between them and now. Some are dreams seeped to waking, some are real recalled as dreams. Some missed what they ought have seen, and some mistook what they saw. Of my memories I remember most, but of my life little. You too may be a memory yet more, and I would remember you fondly as the men who sought to help this aged man though you may mock me once your backs are turned. But will I remember five of you or seven; will I see your faces in my mind; will the sky be clear and loving or overcast and cruel. Or may this will be what I doubt as a tale of another old man I overheard and let become my own. I know not. But I cherish them all, false and true, and could not bear to see them unmade - so I would not return to them but in my mind, where they are safest.” “Onwards –then- nuncle, to some place anew, where you might make memories yet more and share whatever you will with the living. Come along in our company, and depart where you might, away from this accursed place”. “But how would I walk your path young nephews and keep your pace? I know you must journey away yet more as once I did. Once too I would have abhorred the wraiths roaming this Here, once too I would have baulked at lingering in this Now. I wandered every place I could, seeking serenity - lest it had a home some hidden where. But only ghosts yet more found I, and young men who would not bear to stay - for the ghosts were theirs. Every step taken by them and I birthed ghosts more still, no matter the course we took; the death of all paths not chosen refusing to fade unmarked, etching their demise in whispers, regrets and doubts. You think me mad -I know, but mark me nephews lest one day this day serves you well, and may you then consider it payment for your kindness in stopping. We leave no trail unprofaned in our lives –with our lives; we leave no place unghostly. I may not remain here to my days' end – perhaps, but my departure will have marked my ghosts' return to me to haunt unto their eternal rest what memories I held of use to them, so that I may –too- have a peace of sorts; here in some future now, under my willow.” “As you wish” said the most righteous and forthright amongst the band “Let him be, brothers. He is already dead”.
