sonora2sonoma

Ever since first learning of my mortality

I’ve been preparing for my death.

Not always knowingly, in fact

More often not

Yet preparing nonetheless,

Trying to make sense of

And peace with

That which exceeds understanding.

Who will write my epitaph?

The song of the mockingbird?

The feel of the sun’s warmth on bare skin?

The first blossoms of spring?

The sound of water riffling over shallow rocks

—the Songs of Rivers?

Thunder? Lightning?

The laughter of children?

The kindness in an old man’s eyes?

All these,

And more.

Like a task uncompleted,

Like a loose hanging thread,

I await my completion.

Tim Konrad

April 5, 2021