Mystery of Dying

This past Wednesday, I shared how several people in my life have recently died and how mysterious, profound…words fail…I felt. I came across this poem and it echoes the feeling I was trying to share.

We were riding through frozen fields
in a wagon at dawn.
A red wing rose in the darkness.
And suddenly a hare
ran across the road.
One of us pointed to it
with his hand.
That was long ago.
Today neither of them is alive,
Not the hare, nor the man
who made the gesture.
O my love, where are they,
where are they going?
The flash of a hand,
streak of movement, rustle of pebbles.
I ask not out of sorrow,
but in wonder.


~ Czeslaw Milosz ~

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