The air tangles in my nose, thick with the wet earth’s breath, a sweetness gone sour, then sweet again, like memories caught mid-decay. The wind bites sharp— iron, pennies, stone splitting— it clings to the back of my throat, a taste not mine, but swallowed anyway. Every step stirs ghosts— pine needles crushed beneath, their green whispers rising, telling tales of rain-soaked forests and the thousand