Friday, June 7, 2013

bird song

my window is open to the cool morning air. red headed woodpecker drills a cedar post, the rat a tat solid, up close. red wing black bird calls from his cat tail perch on the pond. warbler song drifts from the top of the oak. henry crows out in the garden. a summer morning before the heat of the day pushes me into the river.

one of my best friends told me, two nights ago, she has one year to live. her news like the heat of the day. oppressive. i will be walking with her to that doorway. i've done this work with loved ones too many times before. life seems to have tapped me on the shoulder and given this work to me. but then...we all lose people we it not the work we each have been given?

someone asked my friend 'what does it feel like to know you will die?' i laughed long and loud when i heard this. in a culture generally afraid of death it is a precious question. my friend turned to the woman and said, 'you tell me. you will too.' the woman was stunned into silence, realization stripping blinders from her.

another friend told me there is a workshop called one year to live. seems like a worthy exercise. how do i show up to each day without autopilot talking over? am i really hearing those i  care about in my interactions? do i let the miniscule joys of the moment fill me? can i float with grace and ease with my friend rather than feel oppressed? will we fill our days with laughter?

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