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nameless creek

I plan to die in my sleep sometime several decades from now, during a night following a day when my last dog dropped dead of old age on a walk where we both were amazed by the quality of light from a setting sun like we had never seen before, after the day when I took the best photograph I was ever going to take, ever, and when I put the finishing touches on the best poem I would ever be able to write. In other words, if life is finished with me, I would be finished with life.

Have you ever wondered how your life might be summarized in an obituary headline? I was thinking that mine might go something like:

Low-level technocrat last person to die of nose cancer before cure found

Computer worker dies of infected mouse finger

Under-achieving ex-National Merit Scholar dies in bizarre bowling mishap

Fate no doubt will huff and puff and blow my house down at a moment not necessarily of my choosing, and there's little any of us can do about that, although I personally stay away from bowling alleys.

When I go, I don't want to be buried and have a marker over me. When I'm gone, I want to be really gone, gone without a trace, a handful of my ashes on Debbie's grave, and the rest scattered with my dogs on nameless creek. Nameless creek is callling.