Cigarette and Blood


The title of this entry could also be:


It Is What It Is

It's the Cycle of Life, It's Just the Cycle of Life

A friend of mine used to say that, "It's the cycle of life, it's just the cycle of life." He said that about surprising things like car accidents. Things that I consider outside of the cycle of life: artificial.

I found a trail of blood, an animal, bits of evergreen tree, and a cigarette. It is what it is. Call it what it is. A poacher.

A father cardinal chased a juvenile cardinal into my bedroom window. I picked up the bent little bird. He righted his head and died. I was struck by the little bird's dignity.

The magazine has a picture of a little mouse with her hands held up to her mouth, just like a person. Just like a person. Some people are trying to save the mouse from extinction by luxury hotel.

I spent this cold morning looking at dead and dying trees, and I am feeling wounded. The unfairness is like a lightning bolt.

Could this be the cycle of life? To me, it all seems artificial. Luxury hotels on beaches that are supposed to erode, supposed to change.

The beach during a storm. The wind is blowing against my right side. Sand needles my face. The ocean is without a yoke. This is the cycle of life. This is supposed to happen: the exhilaration of the storm and what the world looks like when the pieces of earth settle where they may.