The wind turns and turns and comes again on its circuit. So too, the message will return. The white ashes will fly over the whole world, but they must return, return to the soot, the dark mark left by their burning. Am I all that’s left of man?
Are there no other remainders here upon this earth? As the forest grows deep and covers our abandoned homes and smothers our ruined cities, why does life cling to this one home, this flesh, this ruined man? Why can I not follow them? They have all moved on, but I’m still here.
Tale Told 