When I was young,
and knew nothing of death,
I remember looking from my bedroom window
into the branches of the cherry tree on the opposite side
and seeing a nest full of blue eggs,
still ripening.

I watched it all summer,
each day checking to see if the
new birds had come fully into
life.
One day, playing in the back yard,
I found their discarded shells lying on the ground,
now useless.
I remember the feeling of numinous awe
as I inspected them, knowing the little birds
were elsewhere now.
It was so simple, so effortless,
but so penetrating.

And now I have seen death
by car accidents, on nameless roads
by cancer, in hospital beds
by violence, in supermarket parking lots.
quick death and slow death
painful and painless
with grace
and without.
And now I feel fearful.
Not for myself,
but a simple, effortless
penetrating feeling.

Such is the cycle of life,
whether I am present
to watch its digression,

or not.