I like to think that when I die my essence will scatter with the winds. Some part of me might dive to the forest floor, nestling amongst the leaves along with the beetles and insects. Some part of me might snuggle down into the mud around the edge of a pond where the frogs, toads, and salamanders live. Some part of me might settle in the fox’s den and derive pleasure from the young ones playing around one parent while the other stands guard at the entrance. Some part of me might fly into the trees and watch the comings and goings of the barred owls at night as they hunt and give their breathy hoots. Some part of me might rise with the hawk and fly on its wings over the woods and streams, spying on the farmer tilling his field. I like to think that when I die I will live in ways as yet imagined.