My body, host to mind and soul for eighty years became unserviceable. It clung to me through frailty and pain, till it could let me go. Now it is buried in a high field where wild flowers bloom and rabbits run. Around it and within, microbes divide and thrive. In my bones, tree rootlets worm their way into the foramina, anchor themselves. Above, the saplings take their time to grow and mesh into a wood which will offer peaceful shade when those who sang at my burial have gone. In nearby fields, turbines turn. panels soak up sunlight, This is a farm where Nature lets her power be harvested. This is earth life in all its vigour. My body offers itself to this place, but I am not here.