Death–the Final Frontier?

This winter, I decided to trim back even less of my garden when all the plants began their annual march from lush abundance, to spent sticks. As the palette in my yard shifted from greens to splashes of gold and bronze, then finally to shades of pewter, brown, and silver, the winter birds began arriving….

MY MOTHER

Of course, I told the bees. Told them that my mother had died. It is an old custom, for beekeepers to let the bees know of events that touch the family, and so I walked out to the bee yard and told them that my mother was dead, and that I was now an adult…

OSPREY AND TROUT

That sacred summer I watched an osprey dive feet first wings spread like benediction when it rose with a silver, fluttering trout. That trout, oh! That trout plucked from the dense tug of water into the effortless current of air. Gasping with astonished breaths that rash unknown sunlight only now obscured by nothing, nothing. Shuddering…