Death and life and death.

My grandmother always says that with the rebirth of spring death steps up the pace. Saul Bellow. Terri Schiavo. Pope JP II. Prince Rainier. Plus millions of others not so famous or infamous. I suppose when Persephone returns from Hades, there's some sort of trade. The sap rises, and the decay of the previous year feeds the new growth. The lessons we have learned from the lives of those leaving feed and sustain us (if we are wise enough to listen). I wouldn't mind dying in the spring. The last vision in my eyes being the blooming flowers, hopefully the first roses of the season. Everything fresh and green and wholesome. Sprinkle my ashes partially with the roses, the rest in the sea. And I would be pleased.