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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.
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