The ones who died strong push the rivers downstream

, pull at clouds and keep the sky in motion. They
green the grass and tug it taller, grab tree trunks and stretch them upwards in tiny bits.

The ones who died passionate kiss each bud and pinch its base until it pops open, surprised. The ones who
died shy string spider webs, almost invisible.

There’s a job for everybody. On any given day. The Dead are generous with their gifts to the living.



S. Reynolds, A Gracious Plenty