A Prayer for Death By rainyman When time is near to reckon with death I pray it be at the close of spring. With a blush of summer promised, the air is soft, and filled with a new awakening of life demanded and growth promised. As my time draws near, I pray I will remember summer showers, the thunder tumbling across the sky. I pray my eyes still see the cascades of color as all life stirs, exploding in the the wonder of a soft summer’s morning. Age is a robber of the physical. Age is demanding. Relentless. Consuming. A thief of life, age steals vitality, then strength, and mocks in the taking. My bones have been sent to a brittle destiny. My hearing left to muted memory. I pray age grants me sight and smell. So precious these gifts if left intact. On my final day, I pray my eyes feast on the colors of God’s pallet. I pray the greens and yellows soothe me, that I fear not leaving this life behind. I pray the reds and golds, purples and crimsons ease my burden and lift my spirit. I pray, as I draw a last breath, I will be cleansed and grow in God’s love and forgiveness.