The soft, spongy black soil cushioned my feet. The translucent green canopy above blocked out most of the sunlight. Critters scuttled beneath the leaves of the past autumn. The aroma of damp vegetation and dirt was like a perfume to me. Inhaling deeply, I outstretched my arms, willing nature to nurture my body.

Separated by a small table in a crowded café, a man and a woman sat across from each other.

“How are you?” the man asked. He sat with his back straight, hands on the table.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” the woman answered. She still wore her coat, even though the café felt quite warm. Condensation covered the large window looking out onto the busy street.

Dragon

Standing outside the cave, I heard the constant dripping of water falling from the slate ceiling into the small reflecting pool. I smelled sulphur and woodsmoke. My boots flattened the various pieces of fragile bone along the pathway I had no choice, but to follow. As I walked further inward, the sets of bones became bigger and more plentiful. The stench of sulphur was everywhere. The scent of woodsmoke, almost non-existent.

Up until this point, I’d never been allowed to enter my grandfather’s bedroom. As kids, we somehow knew not to question why the door was always closed when we visited.

Now, a month after his passing, I hesitated to move forward. It’s difficult to break a life-long habit without it feeling like an intrusion. I slowly counted to three, pushed the door open and flicked the light on. The large room contained a bed, one dresser, a chair and something I didn’t expect to see.