The road is moist beneath my shoesas I run in a heavy, autumn mist.
My dog, Sam, is content as we slip
into a smooth cadence of paws and feet
on black asphalt and gray concrete,
broken by the yellow, brown, red, and gray
of fallen leaves being transformed by decay.
The soft sunlight filters through
a colorful ticker tape parade of fall foliage.
The wind swirls, the leaves dance and twirl.
My eyes trace them in their invisible path.
My own path is invisible, too,
yet it is solid, grounded, earthy.
I can smell the mustiness
of forest litter beneath my feet.
I remember that this is the season when
seeds lie dormant beneath a blanket of soil.
This death is not death.
It is only the beginning.
The past becomes food for the future,
nourishment for the soul
just as those blackened leaves
become nutrients for the earthy wood.
Is it odd to think of our inescapable end?
Is it bizarre to wish that my body would be burned
or buried directly into the earth,
free of chemicals,
free of preservatives?
Why preserve that which has already gone?
I wish that this body, when it is broken down by time and fate,
would nourish the earth from which I was born.
Out of the dust I came.
Into the dirt I will return,
so the circle of life may continue.
When I kiss this fragile, earthen vessel goodbye
and lay it down for the final time,
will this plastic generation recall
that there is a season for planting?
Will they remember to sow this poor seed
in the good earth?
Will they see that the end of all things
is really a new beginning?
The earth is soft beneath my feet
as I run through sunlight and fog;
my own Sunday morning ritual
as I meditate on life with my dog.
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