9/07/2003 02:17:26 AM|||Travis|||

I am a thief. But that is the issue of another rant.

For now, the topic comes back to the enevitability of our own meger existence. What will we try to leave behind before our brief candle is extinguished?

My thoughts decend. At work, the musicians wife succombs to cancer. At home, my father sends me this as he reaches out:

I don't have much time left. I'm 55 and "at my back I always hear / Time’s wingéd chariot hurrying near,” or, if you prefer a Cannell,

"With all my art, I cannot lay a leaf as flat upon the earth as rain can lay it,
or press a fallen tree to oneness, as the molds, microbes and mosses,
nor press myself half as close to earth as death will press me."

-Skipwith Cannell, date unknown

And how true the words of Grandpa Skippy still ring today, almost a century later.

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