The Blooming Bones

Sun shines through the spaces between leaves in the canopy above the overgrown grave. Grass and moss seeping into the cracked concrete, pulling and pushing the man-made stone apart. Humanity had ended centuries before, the last skeleton now a garden of bumblebees and roses. Thorns scratch at the bones, frail and sun-bleached, broken and cracked from years residing in the grove covered with trees. Small beams of tinted light bounce from smooth stones, reflecting into the pool of petals. The flesh and muscle rotted and slinked into the ground, as if the flesh had taught itself to walk without bones.

Upon the evening of the warm day, steaming rain splutters from the sky; a tearful sort of ending to an otherwise happy day. Pelts of small bullet-like water droplets penetrate the cracks cascading the bones, separating the atoms, breaking the last to dust, remnants of the species to be lost in time.