On The Spot

People, in a town or a village, are unconsciously keeping lores or legends, but can not tell their origins. No signatures and evidences left usually, but I admit that from time to time I have got experiences to smell and feel their presences in a wind making swings with an old, big tree, and in shadows moving subtly in a sunny day, when I traced them. As said that everything returns to the soil eventually, every single subject, matter and occasion, regardless of natural or artificial, remains in the soil under my feet, and wait for the time to reborn. That is why there are times I can smell and feel their breaths. Without an exception, we all came from soil, and return there fatefully. Our lives on the soil communicate with and reflect in countless origins, pasts and futures. I keep standing right on the spot where the story began to try to expand my imagination. I might see bleeding blood, deadly contaminated subjects, roars, so on, so forth. The soil I am standing on connects everywhere. From towns to towns, villages to villages. So, happenings are simultaneously everywhere, and we all have the soil deep in our hearts and souls that are open to let them infiltrate.