The Bone Orchard
They don’t grow stones here in this bone orchard. They plant people.
The soil is rich with silence, fed by stories. We tend the plots, not with water, but with memory. In spring, the only blossoms are the ones others bring. The only harvest is a name, whispered back by the wind.
It’s a quiet orchard. But the roots listen.
Written for MicroDosing Fiction: “bone orchard”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.

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