A morning after a week of rain and the sun shot down through the branches and into the tall, bare windows. Today is a beautiful day. The sun shines bright I do like to play. The brindled cat rolled over on his back, and I could hear you in the kitchen grinding coffee beans into a powder. I love to see the leaves dance. To the music of the wind. The spring back and forth. They stand tall then bend. I think I'll go for a walk I'll let you know what I see. The birds in the air. A dog chasing me. I love the feel. Of the wind on my face. I love being alive. In this glorious place. I smell roses and cut grass. And food on a grill I tingle with joy I just can't stand still. Everything seemed especially vivid because I knew we were all going to die, first the cat, then you, then me, then somewhat later the liquefied sun was the order I was envisioning. But then again, you never really know. The cat had a fiercely healthy look, his coat so bristling and electric I wondered what you had been feeding him and what you had been feeding meas I turned a cornerand beheld you out on the sunny deck now running in place—knees lifted high, sking listening, and that toothy, immortal smile.