When Death Comes

Tree Orb

[A re-post from July, 2011, kids,
and linked to Margaret's challenge at Real Toads,
to write to the orb art of Deborah Glassner]
. 

When death comes,

I will miss most: sunrise,

and a new day

for a hopeful fresh beginning;

standing at the edge of the sea,

listening to the cry of the gulls

and the ocean's roar;

the way the mist curls and spirals

through the treetops

on the side of Lone Cone,

and how it lifts by late morning

to reveal the day,

all the little boats 

bobbing out to sea;

the way the light 

changes to rich amber

in late afternoon,

and then sunset arrives,

to dazzle my eyes,

as all the little boats

come back home.

I'll miss birdsong and herons, 

picky-toeing their way

along the mudflats,

and eagles circling overhead

at the beach, surfing the 

wind-currents  of sky,

and white seabirds wheeling free

over shining waters.

I'll miss dogs, and babies,

and old people,

all of whom understand

the meaning of life.

I'll miss whales, 

breaching in Ahous Bay,

the sound of their spouting

like the whispered voice of God;

and the everness of the eternal waves,

in and out, in and out,

as I look down the miles of sandy beach

stretching to  forever,

not a human in sight.

I'll miss wolves, their howls

in the forest at night,

and the yipping of their pups,

under a full round

Grandmother Moon.

I'll miss stars and the mystery 

of the black spaces in between,

and wondering about the

other worlds up there,

in this universe of darkness,

that is just  waiting

to be illuminated.

I'll miss rivers that take  my heart along

on their journey to the sea,

and mountains, and echoing canyons

that trap the sun's warmth,

and waterfalls, tumbling down the slopes,

and rain, its gentle mist falling on

the grateful, nodding blooms

like kisses.

I'll miss it all, but will love

all the remembering,

as I pass through the portal

from life to whatever comes after,

of the  thirty thousand days, 

or so,

that all of this

was mine.