The meadows stretched for miles and miles. Not many people came by, sometimes a farmer or a lost hiker, but they never saw the headstone standing alone on the little hill before the leafy woods.
Birds soared above, sometimes landing on the headstone that marked the life of someone now long forgotten. Other animals also came, they sniffed the stone and moved on. Nature grew moss and grass across the stone, protecting it from the rain and snow.
And the ghost whom the gravestone belongs to drifts evermore, silently haunting, waiting to be released.
(Inspired by; https://secretkeeper.net/2018/07/16/weekly-writing-challenge-150/ with thanks).