Fungal Halo

The Whisper picked its way through the grassy field with slow steps, careful not to disturb what rested in this place.

The sheer fabric of its black dress caught the breeze, and for a moment it tasted what it was searching for on the wind.

It angled its path left.

I don’t claim to understand the great mysteries of life and death.

The secrets of the soul, of the nature of spirits, of what drives some to depart immediately while others linger in this plane as ghosts? All lie beyond my grasp.

All I know is that when I died, I remained.