Coming to terms

This week has been one of those where I constantly remind myself that one day I’m going to die

There will be no news coverage or ballads sung of my great deeds

I won’t have a big cosmic moment where the sky turns red with anger and the earth shakes with my soul

Instead I imagine that it’ll be like the early spring

Snow silently melting off the evergreen pines leaving no trace of myself behind but perhaps a silver puddle and one solitary flower

A dandelion perhaps

Growing in a place where it probably shouldn’t