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When the stars were young and the sun was new, a woman of great power and strong mind met Death at a four-way crossing.
“A fork in the road you missed in your youth.” Then, directly before her: “The unchanged path, as most predict.” To her right: “A future, wild and unseen.” Death looked beyond her to the path she’d been walking: “And a past you cannot escape.”
I’d always found cemeteries a bit odd—they housed the dead, but the dead didn’t need them. The dead didn’t need anything. The very existence of graves, of coffins, felt like a living riddle.
