As I Lay Dying

There is no better place to take a nap in the Olympics on a warm late August afternoon than in Dose Meadows or Thousand Acre Meadows on the upper Dosewallips.  

1k acre meadows

As I lay dying in fields of clover, sinking,
becoming one, returning to mother to father

Marmots chatter, Home League ladies in sensible shoes
varicose veins horn-rimmed glasses
make a quilt for my death bed;
the scent of licorice buckets of vines
clothes on the line smell of lilac
stiff as a board,

condolences offered.

As I lay waiting in fields of clover, melting,
molding, disappearing into earth

Agastache bloom Monarda on display
hummingbirds drink sweet nectar, my mother’s call
frying oysters shaking cream to butter,
industrious bees buzz and dart butterflies lilt
bending grass, dad whistles in the yard,
stealing rhubarb,

“Oh why has he gone.”

As I lay watching in fields of clover, dampness,
the smell of soil, the sound of insects working

Clouds float against the blue late summer sky,
were there “delights as high as these?”
birthday cake with candy rocks and dinosaurs
friends of youth a simpler time the path laid out,
no trouble no fear harbored no thought to choice
or consequence to love or hate,

only dark glass.

As I lay sleeping in fields of clover, dreaming
of youthful love, of ignorance and innocence

The river tumbles carrying me off,
marmots retire the quilt complete
I dream of licorice, dad is smiling
and I am young again
the path I walked was love not
ambition what I have chosen,
 
I claim.

As I lay dying I am not proud, I am
humble, hopeful that my love will live on.

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