If I can choose my time to die
winter is my first choice
although I can imagine
any season could be good
for releasing ego’s hold
on my yet-individuated eco-consciousness,
should there be such a long-named thing
when I choose my time to die.

I would walk out through my trees
to caress and bid farewell
and thank them for this air we breathe
for their patience with my cut-down ways,
I would breathe my richest breath
into their root systems
as I walk on through these Trees
of Life and Death,
breathing through rich swells
of elation rooted Time.

I would lie down on the snow
under snowflakes blanketing this final nest
gathering owl’s rich medicine
listening to her echoing
WhoAreYou
night-ride voice
twinkling back into this miracle
of snow-flaking stars
twinkling blowing we us kisses through this path
lying down as cold and ego-bold as snow.

Co-falling
co-arising
timeless
Earth-membered
conscious choice of times we live
to give as freely as Earth’s snow.

Why does not not old and cold
equal timeless flowing eco-function diadancing,
snowing inviting invisible stars
of Advent’s rebirth light?