Brian Jones

I woke up last night at 2:57am to the sound of raindrops pounding our roof. Not typically a place known for cloudy days, it’s been pouring here in the suburbs of Philly now for the last nine or so hours. While I like to sleep in the midst of an occasional thunderstorm, I certainly don’t like driving in them.

I bring this up because while I was dropping off sneakers to my ten year old who forget them for her gym class, my mind wandered back to a poem I read by Mary Oliver many years ago. Its words have always struck me. Remembering them made me think of my life, its end, and how I want to be remembered. And it reminded me that besides the melancholy Oliver faced in her life, we both share one final wish.

Marengo

When I have to die, I would like to die
on a day of rain–
long rain, slow rain, the kind you think will never end.

And I would like to have whatever little ceremony there might be
take place while the rain is shoveled and shoveled out of the sky,

and anyone who comes must travel, slowly and with thought,
as around the edges of the great swamp.

–Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems