Before death pays me a call

I went to talk to the wind on Sunday.

Outside, beyond the stillness of the house where the only movement was the flame in the fireplace, I could see that the wind’s mood was indeed frisky, what with the branches in the trees going every which way. Being a Sunday I felt confident the gospel truth would be revealed in the direction the leaves moved when I asked a question. You see, over the years I’ve sort of adopted the wattle bush next to the wood shed as my personal ouija board and the windier the day the clearer the answers.

“So tell me Mr. Wind”, I asked. “When I die, when it’s over, will I be able to stand at some new threshold and announce:”

“… all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.”

And the bush moved its branches up and down in the affirmative.

“So tell me Mr. Wind”, I asked again. “Whether or not I will have regrets because:”

“When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
If I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”

And the bush moved its yellow head sideways saying with an empathic “No!” that I would not end up this way.

With those bits of confirming good news, I bounced along to the garden and conferred blessings onto the asian greens salad patch and wished them a happy life, too.

Then I went over to the broccoli patch where thousands upon thousands of flowers were testament to me not eating enough broccoli. I mean, I daily consume a raw handful whenever I pass by the garden, but with so many broccoli plants to chose from a great majority have “pushed” through the “vegetable” stage and burst into super novae of pale yellow flags of Sunday sunshine.

Boy, what a dazzling beginning to the day.

italicized poetry quotes are from: “When Death Comes” by Mary Oliver