At the base of the old oak, Willow gathers pinecones. She whispers to them, "Come back."
She lines them up in a row. The clearing stays still. Nothing happens.
A warm breeze rolls through the leaves. It smells of pine and summer. Willow's nose twitches.
The pinecones rattle. They roll toward her, one by one.
She picks up a warm pinecone and holds it close. "I miss you too," she whispers.
The breeze tickles her ear. The leaves above her dance.
The sunset turns the clearing gold. Willow curls up beneath the oak.
She listens to the leaves whisper. Their voices are soft and steady.
The last light fades to blue. Willow's tail gives a happy little wiggle.
She smiles in her sleep. The clearing is still. The oak watches over her.