Dust to Dust: What Can Be Made of Me?

Every breath, every step, every heartbeat ties me to this life — a life I didn’t choose, and one I can’t seem to escape.

I’m made of the dust of this life, and I will return to it — and yet, I’m haunted by a world that has never felt like one in which I belong.

But I’m here. Working the soil. Feeling the breeze, the sun and the rain. Observing the patterns of life and land. Writing it all down.

Trying hard to understand why I’m here — because it must matter. It has to. Even if, in my lifetime, I never see how.

Maybe the only thing I can do is keep going. Keep turning thoughts as I turn soil. If you're still here and willing to keep going with me, feel free to dig deeper.