Longleaf Stories

full circle in the hundred acre wood

I first saw this fellow clinging to a confederate jasmine tendril, then seeming to slowly fall, wing over wing, into a nearby patch of grass. He looked a little frail, as though he had traveled a long way to be able to die close to heaven. Perhaps he was only inebriated. Lord knows the fragrance of those jasmine almost make me go tilt.

But what a way to go.

Speak. Leave a memory.

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