Death in Tuscany

I am lying on a hillside in Tuscany pretending to be dead.  My body cells merge with the grass and dirt.  I would be the organic being I strive to be.  A wind courses through the trees, the few left by  industrious firewood harvesters.  They are wise enough to leave shade trees, well-spaced saplings and venerable flowering fruit trees.  

An octopus-shaped cloud obscures the sun.  A few minutes ago it was a flying goddess with a swan on her back.  The clothes under my body would be better on, but then have buried me naked so I know I am alive.