Belonging

 

Belonging

She sat on the top of the hill, sighing with happiness and relief.

She’d made her last land payment.

“You’re all mine” she said to the trees and birds, assuming they were listening.

But they weren’t.

The trees grew leaves and the birds sang and flew and built nests in the trees.

Nothing at all changed for the land.

She lived out her days in her little house on her land, content that it belonged to her.

As they scattered her ashes from the top of the hill, the land whispered, “I never belonged to you. You belong to me.”