There was a particularly severe rainstorm and all of a sudden the ground was covered with thousands, millions of little bud thingys, some kind of hanging seed pod, some kind of plant matter. I'm hoping, I'm praying that the thingys are what was causing my allergies and that they are gone, drying up to dust, becoming green fertilizer for the next crop. That they are dead and gone.
Everything dies, doesn't it, buds, me, mountains, suns? Even books, Roman roads and helicopters die.
The luck of death row: Ian killed a spider in his bedroom. In mine they are allowed to live. I shoo them away or escort them outside. I don't love spiders mind you, I just don't hate them. I don't think they all need to die. I don't know a lot about spiders except they have eight legs instead of six, they spin webs, eat insects and are very very quiet. Insects die. Green thingys die. Tires die.
Death is seldom looked at directly, it's usually more in our peripheral vision, either denied or viewed through the lens of religion. I vote for death being a gateway to the next dimension, the next grand adventure, be it Biblical or Star Trekkie.
The thing about death is it makes you want to live, and living makes you want to love. So I'm going to love things, experiences, places, books, movies, food, and most of all people.
Today I loved the ferry ride, the drive to Port Angeles, the breakfast at The Chestnut Cottage, the views of the mountains, The Strait of Juan De Fuca, and the ride with Lynn.
Love you.
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