For all my friends and acquaintances who give a damn and live that out by making good art, good writing, good photographs, good science, good kids, good government, good food, good health, good music, or good-whatever-you-were-created-to-do, I offer this gorgeous poem by Mary Oliver. Blessings on you all!
When Death Comes
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say; all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end simply having visited this world.
-- Mary Oliver
Today's front yard critter count:
Deer: 2
Raccoons: 0
Squirrels: 2
Chipmunk: 1
Frogs: bazillions
