Ravenwing

She could feel her body separate, and her soul began to float up. In a few moments she was able to look down upon her home, at the cabin her father had built years earlier. The moss thickly coated the roof boards and the smoke still chugged from the chimney. Her body sat by the smoky fire and Bob stalked a rabbit in the bush beside the cabin. The new leaves were popping out on the aspen trees, the green fresh and vibrant, a stark contrast to the dark shades of spruce, fir and pine trees. The tiny garden she had prepared last fall was ready to be seeded. Just off to the right of the garden were the graves of her parents, the wooden crosses askew; obviously they needed to be replaced. The mountain creek, usually so tiny it barely trickled all summer, was still swollen from the melted snow, and it was the creek that she floated over, following it down the mountain, following the directions of the voices.In a small clearing where she gathered berries every summer she saw a tan coloured horse standing, its reins hung loosely, the saddle hung under its belly. The buckskin quietly munched on fresh new grass, undisturbed by the fact that his owner was lying still on the ground beside him.