Death Hoped

This morning I awoke to the crack of a rifle. And, rolling right along, I noticed the thump of the dogs tail, more subdued than usual, and how she peed with alacrity. And the trees! When had the masses of orange-brown delight turned into dead sticks stretching, reaching to reclaim their former glory? And this was the backdrop for my crisp Romaine, attached to the hope of fresh salad next to yesterday's turkey.

Fall has always been my favorite season, because of the stunning colors; the beauty. It is enough to shake the introspection right out of this branch. I have to see! To live outside of myself. Emily Dickinson writes "because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me." For some reason her mind and the mind of Dylan Thomas are intertwined for me right now. It is as though this awesome beauty is one last 'hurrah'! Or a burning against the dying; a refusal to go gently "into that good night."

My children have skeletons hanging downstairs on the bulletin board. It's part of our homeschool project to make the human body out of paper. So far, my four-year-old is the biggest fan. He simply adores cutting and pasting and putting stuff together. Typical, eh? Well, we've moved on and begun creating the digestive system, starting with the face. And without fail, each child decided to put their face on their skeleton. They look rather comical, hanging there. My oldest daughter drew hair around her face before she cut it out, and it looks a little eerie to see it resting against the clavicle. And what is time? Surely it is slipping through our fingers. But it is not lost.

The leaf who falls like rain upon the wind
Has left a bud that winter can't rescind
The flower withers, falling from the sun
Yet sinks or scatters...newness is begun

The creature left with nothing to exhale
Installed another; death cannot prevail
In deep, or nest, in grass or in the womb
Unfolding from the shadows of the tomb.

The patterns from His hand they always tell
Of who us through the cycle will impel
The threads allotted treasures to be sought
Wonder life to brimming will be fraught!

Until the soul of man would gasp in awe
To realize that death has lost her claw
Seeing her from on the other side
Even though with her you still abide.