Death doesn't make appointments.

I've become increasingly cautious about little things. I turn off all the burners and the lights when I leave the kitchen; check the refrigerator doors for tight closure; lock the front door; move any items that might block our quick exit in an emergency; make sure our night lights are all functioning, especially the ones that guide us to and from the bathrooms.  Yes, my money can be hijacked; my computer can crash; my tender shoots freeze; my skin wrinkle without moisturizers, but our exit, if required, will be smooth and beautifully executed!

Creepy? Not in my neighborhood. In the morning we saw Joe push the lawnmower in his front yard; by evening, Joe had joined his ancestors.  And Joe was younger than most, and in relative good health.

Less than a year ago a wonderful poet in our Bandon Writers' group died without much fanfare.
Bob Cohen was younger than me! He ended up on the Oregon Coast by way of Chicago, Portland, and many other places.  His voice, his presence, is missed. His words, though, his art, lives on.

Later today, I'll be posting a poem on my other blog,  Notes, tales.  You may want to find his work in libraries and bookstores, and enjoy all that he has written.

Death sends us reminder notices this way.
So, be sure you've done what you intend to do with your life.
Be sure your work is what you want it to be.