The Last Of Our Days

At one time or another we all ask ourselves how we will spend the last of our days. Will they come in springtime? Will the smell of honeysuckle and the sound of birds chirping fill the air? Will you look to see a grandchild running off into your woods, or watch the cattle move slowly across the field? Though we speak of it not to our neighbors the thought plagues us daily, if not hourly. But we come to terms to with it; we know it must come. And in some odd way, we look forward to it; the end of strife; the end of struggle. Somehow we think that if there is something beyond, it must be restful. Occasionally, we breathe a sigh of relief, knowing it will come and that we don’t have to arrange it; we don’t have to send out the invitations or double check the guest list; we don’t have to do anything but wait. And there’s some comfort in that. It’s one decision we don’t have to make.