Dusty bones.

The old man carried his bones. The old man carried his bones every day. In the past, when he was young, he could fly. He knew this. He remembered the flying. His bones gave him shape to fly then. Now his bones carried in a rag bag return to dust. The old man walked with his dusty bones. Dusty though they were, they carried him.

The others watched. They saw his bones in the dusty bag. They knew his walking days were almost over. The night came that his dusty bones carried him no further. Through a night of pain, the old man held his bones close. The others gave him the way to leave his dusty bones behind.

The old man and his dusty bones were planted with care beneath the yellow bush. Every year, with the yellow blossoms, the bush hung heavy with kittens. The others looked at the bush and began to cry.