Death Be Not Proud

Every blade in the field,
Every leaf in the forest,
Lays down its life in its season,
As beautifully as it was taken up.

– Henry David Thoreau

It’s the circle of life, right?  The old die, the young live on.

If only.

And all I can say – really all I think I’ll ever be able to say – is why?

This is for one of the nicest people I’ve ever known.  For a friend I knew since elementary school.  For a friend I hadn’t had a real conversation with in years.  For a friend who now, I’ll never talk to again.  For a friend who will never make it to his first high school reunion.  For a friend cut down by Death’s cold scythe, wielded by clumsy human hands.  For a friend who was forced to lay down far, far out of season.  For Bryan.

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