It gives a scent; death. It leaves a lingering taste in your mouth, somewhat like tobacco smoke. I felt the blow of death from close friends, but never lost a close love one. I witness the era of my Grandfather’s death back in 2010 also my Grandmother’s death (his wife) some twenty years earlier. However, I did not attend either one’s funeral. I thought that I was going to be given the experience and the pain when my sister-in-law died and the early age of 42yrs old. This event was in fact my first funeral; it had its moment but did not give a lingering affect. Then I witness another funeral and after a memorial. The relics of families hung on branches like dead leaves of Autumn.
The wind blows across my heart. I know that I will be different as days turn into tomorrow. The massive strength of the wind pulls the life out off the trees casting them among fellow associates then carries it away to the nest of the afterlife. Death looks orange like a pumpkin used as a scarecrow’s head in an open field. It comes rather or not it was invited. It touches the lives of all who witness around the environment. Death looks like a cool breeze on an Autumn day, nothing extra ordinary about nature. It could be another Thursday. It could be remembered as a holiday. It could call like a howl in the wilderness. Strangers become friends, lovers become distance. The separation of time and space connects in a measurement of depth in life’s fate. When all things comes to a judgment, death looks like a scary story told over and over again as some kind of lullaby to a child. It always puts someone to sleep.