A Clean Offering

I noticed an old stone roadside jizo shrine weathered by centuries of damp rot and choked with fallen gray needles. Kneeling slowly before the small alcove, I cleared the decayed debris with my fingers, brushing the moss-draped ledge until the rough basalt stood bare. Beside it lay three dry red rowan berries scattered across the loam. I picked them up and arranged them neatly upon a flat cedar bark chip before the hollowed stone, a quiet token of respect for those who walked this path long before us.