A free-verse poem about changing views of mortality.
As I emerged from my garage
this morning to retrieve
the newspaper from the driveway,
I spotted the mallard duck pair
that have taken up residence
in our neighborhood although
we aren't near any body of water.
They waddled from my lawn
across the street to safety
on the neighbor's yard.
As I drew nearer the newspaper,
I saw a tragedy transpire.
A quite young squirrel not
one-third grown and newly
exploring on his own saw me
and decided to follow the ducks
across the street to apparent safety.
Mid-way across the street, he froze
as a car came barreling toward him.
I saw the driver's face.
The driver was a young man,
probably a teenage legal driver,
although to me he looked like a child.
Seeing the poor squirrel, this kid
accelerated and swerved to run
over the squirrel. He delivered
instant death without regard,
actually smiling at his feat
as he drove on.
At age sixty-eight and a half,
I have become increasingly aware
of my own mortality. I now hold
life dear as never before, when
death was a distant event in my life.
Life matters. All life matters,
each and every life in Nature,
no matter how small or
seemingly of little significance
or worth, has value.
Whenever any creature – be it bird,
butterfly, dog, or squirrel – suffers
a premature death, it now tears at
my heart because all creatures
deserve their own opportunity
at fulfilling their life's potential.
I no longer smile at any creature's
needless death. Nowadays I cry
from heartache.
And yet the death of each and every saint is precious in God's sight because they are then transformed, reborn with spiritual bodies and ushered into the heavenly realms of glory... no, death is not the end, but rather a fresh beginning, a necessary threshold, a momentary night heralding a new dawn. Squirrels and saints alike, the knock on death's door is but a brief candle wick snuffed only to be transformed, transfigured, transubstantiated. Seasons don't fear the reaper... nor do the wind or the sun or the rain... Don't fear the reaper. Though the lyrics come from a Blue Oyster Cult song, my faith in afterlife is not a cult-like tenet, but a rock-solid belief based on years of an intimate relationship with the Creator of the Universe, and confirmed and corroborated with several decades of answered prayers. We cannot always get what we want, but if we remain faithful, we get what we need. That comes not from the Rolling Stones, but from the One whose grave stone was rolled away to reveal the firstborn from the dead--our savior and Lord, Jesus Christ. Thanks to his work, we can echo the line from John Donne's sonnet with conviction: Death Where is Thy Sting?
It is really too bad that that kid is so heartless. I recall a story when I was a teenager about guys who drove in the night and killed animals with their car in a wooded area. The story ended with the driver losing control and dying––good riddance.
The English professor friend of mine who read my short story, Brian Bushytail and the Urban Forest, said she couldn't finish reading it is it contained too much death. Recently, while driving in the same area that I wrote the story about, the squirrel darted out and did a 180° turn under my left front wheel. I overreacted and ended up close to the front steps of the house, between huge trees, with a slashed front left tire. Yet I was grateful that the squirrels survived.
The only time I ever recall running over any animal in the road was a tragic time when my grandmother and I were driving to California in 1966. As I climbed the Cascade Range in Oregon, I believe, although I tried to avoid them, I ran over two squirrels and know that I hit them, in spite of my efforts to avoid them, because I saw them in the review mirror. It made me sick to think that I couldn't miss them.
Its so sad how some people can care SO little for the death of one of God's creatures, big or small. Some people are void of compassion. Excellent and preceptive write.
A further collection of poems, many from years in the Middle East, but also the California San Francisco and Central Coast areas (Santa Cruz, Carmel, Big Sur, Berkeley, etc.).
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Man will let you down ever time.
Peace, love and abundant blessings,
John Michael Domino
Roger
The English professor friend of mine who read my short story, Brian Bushytail and the Urban Forest, said she couldn't finish reading it is it contained too much death. Recently, while driving in the same area that I wrote the story about, the squirrel darted out and did a 180° turn under my left front wheel. I overreacted and ended up close to the front steps of the house, between huge trees, with a slashed front left tire. Yet I was grateful that the squirrels survived.
The only time I ever recall running over any animal in the road was a tragic time when my grandmother and I were driving to California in 1966. As I climbed the Cascade Range in Oregon, I believe, although I tried to avoid them, I ran over two squirrels and know that I hit them, in spite of my efforts to avoid them, because I saw them in the review mirror. It made me sick to think that I couldn't miss them.
Ron
budd
Its so sad how some people can care SO little for the death of one of God's creatures, big or small. Some people are void of compassion. Excellent and preceptive write.
Love and blessings,
+Linda