When I expire, lungs emptied of air, heart still and unmoved, do not say I died or transitioned or passed away. Tell them that I left. I walked away from here. I packed light and went a travelin’, tiny knapsack stuffed round and ready for a one-way journey into the tamed uncharted wilderness. Tell them I went on a vision quest, far from the soil of my ancestors, the soil of my mothers and fathers. My walking stick carved by my hands pulled me toward the stars, across galaxies and nebulas. Tell them it was time for me to embark on my journey, leaving behind the machinations of the here and now, to find peace and quiet and love and song, find dog stars and distant suns, aurora borealis in technicolor. Tell them I walked long and far from here with intention, purpose and desire. Tell them I leave this land to my daughters, brothers, sisters and friends. And my lineage who will never know my name because centuries will wall between us until they cannot see even the memories of my stories. The memories will turn to dust, yes, those words we said and thought were immortal. They too will leave, walking away from the here, words blowing into the ocean to give breath to the sea; walking on water into their destiny. No, don’t tell them I died. Tell them I left you here, my coordinates tight in the palm of your hand so you will find me when you decide to leave. Tell them I was happy to go. Tell them I am waiting for them next to an unnamed star, stretched out near a dusty road in a field of daisies, underneath a weeping willow tree, cradling a tall glass of lemonade.