Wednesday, September 12, 2007


When the sky is blue and clouds are few and the sun is bright but not too hot I meditate on what I've got, not what I'd give, to live a life of luxury I know is not for me.

I marvel at my years on earth which started with my infant bitrth and stayed by me unto this day. I meditate about the fate that awaits me down the way. I revere towering trees, the ocean breeze, the mighty seas, the endless hours and friendly flowers, the gentle rain and sudden showers that wash clean air that's always there. I worship, too, the morning dew that only does what dew is due to do, add fragrance to the waking lawn at dawn.

I listen to songs of birds that fly, to lonely owls who hoo the whole night through, to buzzards, bees and varieties of insect families, each unique in how it speaks in voices weak or voices strong as those of like mind survive in nests or hives their short lived lives maneuvering with flapping wings, stinging beings repeatedly day by day until they're felled by man-made spray.

Everything---from lion kings to elephants, giant ants to jungle plants, snakes who sliver pass in grass, turtles hiding in their shell, and who can tell what other creatures creep the earth or hang from trees who, from fleas to flies and otherwise to varying degrees are worth the space they take to make this place a temporary hell or sanctuary.

Life is one big dirty trick that, all too quick, denies the prize of supersize longevity and, instead, turns you and me and all the dead and gone into fertilizer for Forest Lawn or one of those other places of repose six feet down in the heart of or on the edge of town.

So, eat and drink and be very, very, very merry. Your last stop is the cemetery or crematory.



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