Remnants of a trail

A brief poem of contemplation.

The scent of death drifts through the air
like a leaf caught in the wind.
Alone, as we all will be one day,
I walk the cold trail surrounded
by the crumbling corpses of fallen foliage.
I look to my left and see
sanctified stones protrude from the earth
Like the silent stumps that dropped the leaves.
Except that their roots are the rotting remains
of those who once walked the trail too.