{nor any bounds, bounding us}

I know it not, O Soul;
Nor dost thou—all is a blank before us;
All waits, undream’d of, in that region—that inaccessible land.
– Toward The Unknown Region, from Whispers of Heavenly Death, by Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman had the loveliest sense of adventure about death, and so it is with that sense that I – for real this time – break the metaphorical champagne bottle on the ship that takes my grandmother off on her next adventure. I believe that the first leg of the journey is sleep, a deep and restful recompense for all of the years of work and toil and worry…for The Depression. For The Wars. For the peace. And then, when we can all be together, the voyage will continue to …somewhere, where, as Jane Kenyon says, God is, as advertised, mercy clothed in light.

That’s a good thought on which to set sail.