THE DEN

She built her hiding place in the grass. He filled it with silence

She laid down in the damp grass, savoring the scent of late summer rain.

Her den sat at the edge of the tall grasses, perfectly positioned to watch the meadow without being seen. Fawns, foxes—her quiet reward for stillness.

She was always amazed how long she could wait.
Even more amazed no one came looking.

The sound startled her.
Headlights swept the field. A truck. She almost stood—then didn’t.

The man got out. Left the engine running, then shut it off. He pulled a shovel and lantern from the back. Turned off the headlights.

Light flickered.

He cut away the meadow grass with uncanny care—preserving it, placing it to the side. The shovel slid through soil like it had been waiting.

She watched, entranced. He disappeared into the hole he dug, only his hat remaining.
It must be for a tree, she thought. A big one.
She wanted to help. But surprises were better.

Then—her name.
Again.
He beckoned.
She stepped from her hiding place.

He lifted her gently down into the hole. The soil was cool, soft, rich. She gasped. Joy.
She touched the walls. Let dirt fall through her fingers.
Then—a crack. Her back. Her knees.
Then nothing.

He stood over the small body.
Quiet.
Filled the hole.
Finished his work.
Replaced the grass.
Planted the tree.

The girl stood watching.
Confused. Floating.

She couldn’t remember what the earth smelled like.
As the truck pulled away, she shouted—“Daddy, don’t leave me.”

The man turned his head, he thought he heard something. But didn’t believe it.
Beside him, little Charlotte sat
Smiling. Happy she was going home.