We hear time and again of artists cut down in the eternal youth of their prime — painters, writers, poets, musicians — and wonder at the gifts they leave behind. And I think, thank goodness they did not put off doing the work they were born to do. I feel the same about mothers and fathers, farmers, caregivers, teachers, and everyone else who meets their fears and answers the call. Even if you suddenly find yourself alive in old age — no one can do your work but you.
After the Storm
You see my blackened bough,
and wonder how the lightning failed
to reach my roots. I tell you now,
it did not fail, the fire lives there still.
Songs and Letters, July 6, 2006
Another Song I Know, Cosmopsis Books, 2007