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It is time, I think, to tell my story.

In this moment, as the sun stretches its burnished hands upon the world, I feel myself finally pulling apart with time. Something is coming and I feel surrender approaching. A gentle giving-in.

I am not afraid. Not now. I’ve seen enough to know that fear scrapes feeling from hearts and I have no desire to scour mine down to bare and trembling muscle. Still, after what has happened, in this moment of honey-light, the air a censer of eucalyptus, I wonder hoe many days remain to me and whether, if I pass out of existence without testament, something will be lost.

I could not remain with her. I think – and the thought lathes a yawning hole of grief within me – that it is over. I think I have already seen her face for the last time. That is what is hard. That is what has brought me up here amongst the trees. And now, one of these days, I will be gone.