Translucent vapors float skyward, allowing my gaze to penetrate them and ponder what comes
after. Mothers leave but their impressions stay. The corporeal forms are gone and their earthly
shells interred within it.
I smell the wood smoke, but it dissipates and disappears. No form lingers, neither olfactory nor
visual, just spiritual.
We can only look through the haze, beyond, and hope. Hope to be with them again one day
but have no guarantee. Just believe what they said and follow their map of faith. And hope.
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