Usually, men carrying axes were unwelcome in the woods.
But Armo was a different sort of man. He respected nature, cherished it even, and the trees knew him.
The day she died, he was there, ax in hand.
He arrived shortly after dawn, telling them he couldn’t bear the thought of her body decaying and asking permission to alter the natural order of things.
They looked into his heart.
They watched as he worked throughout the day, well into the night, until the next morning, not stopping for food or drink.
They marveled at the care he took.
Nothing drew his attention from her form, first cutting her down, then carving her into a smooth, wooden bed.
The Dryads admired their sister’s final resting place.
Tuulikki was gone. She would not be crumbling and returning to the woods but remaining there in a mix of man’s and nature’s peaceful slumber.
My #writephoto, a weekly writing prompt for poetry/flash/short stories hosted by Sue Vincent
(Note: This week’s photo shows a bed with a pillow, all carved from a single tree trunk and left in a wood.)