Roses are red.

Graves are too.

I will soon see you.

A cold morning, fog rolled over the lonely hill. Standing at a flat clearing was a single tree, under it a rough stone. Small words were written on it, Welcome home. Then, rustling and slow hesitating movement disrupted the serenity. A young boy, barely a man. Scared to step closer. After strong gust seem to push him forward, he gathers himself and fully step up to the Tree.

“Sorry I haven’t made for time for you. I… it’s been a rush, chaos. The war effort has landed here. I volunteered, which I know you would not want…” The winds shake the tree, dropping leaves on the boy, seeming angry. “But its suffocation here, I need to breath, I need space. So, this is goodbye for now. I don’t know when I will be allowed to be on leave. But I shall come back here again. That I promise”

The boy walks away from the grave, his steps silent in the wind. When he is gone, the winds seem to slow, to grieve his departure. Silence Is restore to the clearing, an unnatural stillness seems to blanket it green clearing. Making it seem greyer, less alive than before.

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Five cycles of seasons pass. Yet the small hill was minimally affected. Rain, snow, sun, none were allowed to penetrate the protective halo of the tree. The roughed stone stilled, until a grey cloudy afternoon. A man, no longer a boy, marched in steady steps right up to the roots of the tree. He placed one hand on the tree, breath in deep and remembered. After a while, the wind seemed to gently nudge him awake. His eyes linger on the tree then slid down to the stone beneath him.

“It´s been a while. A lot has changed, but you are unaffected. It´s both a relief and makes me sad” the man reached down and gently brushed his fingers over Welcome home. “I am back, but don’t have a lot of time. This is the last time I will see you on this side” the winds seem to try to shake some senses into him, but he was standing tall and steady. He was ready for his fate. He marched down the hill, only leaving a rose behind. He was never seen walking again.

One cycle of seasons gone again, the winds seemed to intertwine into two and happily fly away from the tree. A new rock stood under the tree. They both read. Welcome home. I am back home.

-End