14 June, Laos
Most maps don’t show the agarwood forests. You find them by smell—a sweetness beneath the rot. Today, I followed a trail of ants. They feast on infected wood, drawn to the oud’s decay. Found a fallen tree, its heartwood black as a starless sky. We took only what the storm had already claimed. The others say I’m sentimental. But isn’t that why we’re here? To care for what the world ignores?
- Maly
